he had just cut his enemies' communications link.

Maybe that will clear those damn dragons out of my airspace, he thought as

he went back to work on the warbot.

"Now go!"

Major Michael Francis Xavier Gilligan grunted and broke out of the holding

pattern. A quick check of the cockpit panels, a fast glance to the right

to make sure Smitty, his wingman, was still in position and he

concentrated on his descent. Five hundred feet wasn't a lot of altitude

for a high-performance fighter in this kind of weather. A few seconds

inattention and you'd fly right into the water.

Bitch of a day to go flying, Gilligan thought to himself. Then he turned

his full attention to the job at hand.

Patrol Two looked down at the now-useless communications crystal and swore

luridly. Between the winds and the fog, the rider and dragon were

perilously close to being lost. And now this!

This, thought Patrol Two, is turning into one bitch of a day.

Sharp hunched over the operator's shoulder, staring at the big screen as

if he was about to dive into it.

"Incoming aircraft!" one of the other operators sang out. Sharp jerked

erect and hurried to the man's console.

"We got four, heading our way from the East." The operator looked at the

screen again. "Probably those tricked-up Flankers." He studied the radar

signature analysis. "Yeah, four Flankers incoming."

"Are they after us or Eagle Flight?" Sharp demanded.

"They're heading into the area Eagle Flight is going for. Uh oh!" The

operator spoke quickly into his mike. "The Soviets just lit up their air

intercept radars."

"Are they after our guys?"

The operator studied the screen intently. "They're headed in that

direction. No, wait a minute. I don't think so. They seem to be after the

same targets we are. The IL-76 must have picked them up just after we

did."

Ozzie Sharp scowled mightily at the screen. All of a sudden the air over

that God-forsaken patch of ocean was getting awfully crowded.

* * *

"Smitty, check your ten," Gilligan called to his wingman. "Do you see

that?"

Off to their left and slightly below them, something dark was threading

its way through a canyon between two banks of clouds.

"What the hell is it?" Smitty demanded a few seconds later.

"I don't know. I don't think it's doing a hundred knots and it keeps

ducking in and out of those clouds."

Gilligan touch-keyed his mike to transmit the report, but there was

silence in the earphones.

He tried again. Still nothing. He switched radios. Nothing. He tried

different frequencies, he checked the circuit breakers, he ran the radio

checklist. Still nothing. He could get Smitty but that was all. Meanwhile

the thing appeared out of another cloud.

"Smitty, can you raise anyone?"

"Negative, sir."

Gilligan considered for a minute. Whatever this jamming was it apparently

wasn't strong enough to block him from talking to his wingman, but there

was no way to reach anyone else. It had been made crystal clear to him

that one way or another the information he collected had to get back.

"Smitty, have you been getting this on tape?"

"Yessir."

"Then make sure you've got a good image and then split off. I'm going in

for a closer look."

"The hell you say!"

"As soon as you're sure you've got a good image, split off and get the

hell out of here. That information has got to get back."

There was a long crackling silence on the radio.

"Am I supposed to say 'yes sir'?" Smitty said finally.

"You're supposed to get that damn information back. Anything else is up to

you. Now, have you got it?"

"On the tape."

"Then go. Remember. No matter what happens to me, you've got to get that

data home."

Gilligan watched as his wingman broke off. Since his first day in flight

school he had been drilled that a fighter never, ever, flies alone.

Suddenly it was awfully lonely.

Well, the sooner I do this, the sooner it will be over. Reaching down, he

activated his camera. Then just to be on the safe side he armed the two

Sidewinders hanging under the fuselage. He left the Sparrows unarmed. That

thing might have a fuzzbuster tuned to the targeting radar's frequencies

and he didn't want to fight unless he absolutely had to. Finally he

checked the status of his 20mm cannon.

One good pass, Gilligan told himself. One pass so close I can see the

color of their eyes.

It was the sound that first alerted Patrol Two. The hissing roar that

sliced through the eerie silence of the fog banks. The dragon rider had

only a brief glimpse of something moving up behind and to the left.

Something very, very fast and headed straight at them.

To a dragon rider that meant only one thing: Dragon attack! No time to

turn into it and fight fire with fire. Patrol Two grabbed an iron seeker

arrow out of the quiver and brought the bow up with the other hand.

Twisting around in the saddle even as the arrow fitted into the bow and

not waiting for the seeker to get a lock, Patrol Two got off one shot.

Then the rider pressed flat against the beast's back and yanked the reins

to throw the dragon into violent evasive maneuvers. The dragon, unsettled

by the roaring monster, responded enthusiastically and dropped into a

writhing, spiraling dive into the fog.

The arrow's spell wasn't capable of making fine distinctions. It had been

launched at a moving target and that was sufficient. The arrow flew

straight to its mark and hit the plane's right wing about halfway out

toward the tip.

As soon as the point penetrated the thin aluminum skin the arrow's death

spell activated. It didn't know it was trying to kill an inanimate object

and it was as incapable of caring as it was of knowing.

Like most things magic, the spell didn't work perfectly in this strange

halfway world, but it worked well enough.

"What the fuck?" Mick Gilligan yelled, but there was no one to hear. His

radios, like every other piece of electronic equipment in his Eagle had

gone stone dead.

Unlike the F-16, an F-15 does not have to be flown by computers every

second it is in the air. But everything from the fuel flow to the trim

tabs is normally controlled by electronic devices.

As a result Major Mick Gilligan didn't fall out of the sky instantly. But

everything on the plane started going slowly and inexorably to hell.

One of the things that went was the automatic fuel control system.

Normally the F-15 draws a few gallons at a time from each tank in the

plane to keep everything in trim. When the electronics died, Major

Gilligan's plane was drawing from the outboard left wing tank. Rather than

switching, it kept draining that tank, lightening the wing and putting the

plane progressively more out of trim.

Gilligan didn't notice. He was too busy dealing with the engines. Losing

the electronics meant they were no longer automatically synchronized.

Almost immediately the right engine was putting out more power than the

left. By the time Gilligan had taken stock of the situation, the exhaust

gas temperature on the right engine was climbing dangerously and the left

engine was going into compressor stall.

He didn't waste time cursing. He put both hands on the throttles and

started jockeying the levers individually, trying to get more power out of

his left engine and cut back the right before the temperature became

critical.

It wasn't easy. Without the electronic controls the throttles were

sluggish and the engines unresponsive. Gilligan was like a man trying to

take a shower when the hot water is boiling and the cold water is

freezing. It's painful and it takes a lot of fiddling to get things right.

Gilligan was fiddling furiously.

Gilligan looked up and saw the windshield was opaque with dew. The

windshield wipers had quit working along with everything else. He also saw

by the ball indicator that the plane was banking right and descending.

Instinctively he corrected and put the throttles forward to add power and

get away from the water. The engines seemed to hesitate and then they

caught with a burst of acceleration that pressed Gilligan back into his

seat.

It almost worked. In fact it would have worked if Gilligan hadn't

forgotten one other automatic system. When the power came on, the Eagle's

nose came up. Too far up. The Boundary Layer Control System that is

supposed to keep the F-15 from stalling at high angles of attack was also

dead. The nose went up and then back down as the Eagle stalled and

plummeted toward the ocean.

Senior Lieutenant Abrin had lost contact with his base and the rest of his

flight, but his radar seemed to be working perfectly. He watched on the

screen as the Americans performed the highly unusual maneuver of splitting

up and one of them turned back. Then he saw the other plane make a pass at

something and then disappear from the screen.

That was enough. He quickly turned his plane in that direction to see what

had happened.

Patrol Two broke out of the clouds almost in the water. Frantically the

rider signaled the beast to climb for everything he was worth. The dragon

extended its huge wings fully and beat the air desperately to keep from

smashing into the sea. Spray drenched dragon and rider alike, but somehow

they avoided the ocean.

The dragon beat its wings strongly to climb away from the water and

suddenly roared in pain.

Fortuna! Patrol Two thought. Somewhere in the last minute's violent

maneuvering the dragon had injured himself. The rider touched the

communications crystal worn on a neck thong, but the bit of stone remained

cold and dead.

Gilligan reached for the yellow-and-black handle next to his right leg. I

hope to Christ this still works, he thought as he pulled the ejection

lever.

The ejection seat was designed as a fail safe, electronics or no. The

canopy blew off and Gilligan was blasted into the air scant feet above the

water.

There was a whirling rush and then Gilligan was kicked free of the

ejection seat. Suddenly he was dangling under his parachute, floating down

in a clammy fog to the water he knew had to be below him.

Below and off to one side he saw a tiny splash as his ejection seat

hurtled into the Bering Sea. Then the fog closed in around him and all he

could see was cottony grayness.

Gilligan cursed luridly. In the personal effects compartment of his

ejection seat was his map case and in that map case were several letters

he had intended to mail-including the alimony check to his ex-wife which

was already a week overdue.

Sandi's lawyer is going to kill me! he thought as he floated soundlessly

through the fog for an unknown destination.

Patrol Two was in no better shape. The dragon was favoring its right wing

in a way the rider knew meant the beast would not be able to bear them up

much longer.

Pox rot this place! Patrol Two swore silently and then concentrated on

trying to remember the way to the nearest land. It was a terrible place to

set down, but from the way the dragon's chest muscles tightened with each

wing beat Patrol Two realized they would be doing well to make it at all.

Lieutenant Smith hadn't seen Major Gilligan go in, nor had he heard the

distress cry from the F-15s transponder. But the major was supposed to

make a quick pass and come back to join him. As the minutes ticked by, the

lieutenant became increasingly worried. Something had to have happened to

his commander.

Smith hadn't gotten a good look at whatever it was, but he knew his video

camera had it all down. That part of the mission was over. Now all they

had to do was get back safely. He concentrated on guiding his plane back

on what he was pretty sure was a reciprocal heading while he kept running

through the channels on his radios. Mick would be along, he was sure. And

if he wasn't then that video tape was doubly important

Suddenly Smith's radar and radios were working again. Quickly he shifted

to his assigned frequency, keyed his mike and began reporting what had

happened.

Lieutenant Smith wasn't at all sure what he had seen down there, but he

was reasonably sure the Soviets didn't have anything to do with it.

Patrol Two stayed in the open to make searching for land easier, but the

rider also kept close to the clouds to hide quickly if need be. Off on the

far horizon, the rider saw a thin line that seemed to be land. The dragon

saw it too and surged forward, its wing beats picking up strength as it

flew.

Patrol Two was just starting to relax when another of the roaring gray

monsters burst out of the clouds above and in front of them less than half

a bowshot off.

Instantly, the rider rolled the dragon right and ducked into the clouds.

As the misty gray swallowed them up, Patrol Two had a quick glimpse of the

thing rolling into a turn to follow them.

So stiff, Patrol Two thought. Its wings don't move even in a turn and the

rest of the body stays rigid as well. Whatever the things were, they

weren't dragons.

Senior Lieutenant Abrin spent the next ten minutes dodging in and out of

the clouds looking for the thing again. Although his plane did not have a

video imaging system like the F-15s and it had all happened so quickly he

hadn't had time to turn on his gun cameras, he had gotten a good look at

the object before it disappeared.

Lieutenant Abrin had no doubts about what he had just seen. His most

prized possessions were a Japanese VCR and a bunch of bootlegged American

movies. The more he thought about it the more obvious it was to him what

was going on.

"Comrades. Do we have any information on Spielberg making a movie in this

area?"

Twenty-five: MAROONED

Warm! Mick Gilligan thought as he spluttered his way to the surface. The

water's warm.

By rights it ought to be nearly freezing. But it was nearly as tepid as

the Caribbean.

Nothing but surprises, he thought as he pulled his seat pack to the

surface with the cord attached to his leg. At least this one is pleasant.

He unsnapped the cover on the top half and inflated his raft.

Wait a minute! There are sharks in the Caribbean. He redoubled his

struggles to get into the raft.

It wasn't easy. An Air Force survival raft is about the size of a child's

wading pool and it is designed to be stable once the pilot is in it, not

to be easy to get into. Gilligan was encumbered by his arctic survival

suit, his G-suit and his flight suit. He wanted to hurry for fear of

sharks, but he didn't want to splash too much for fear of attracting them.

If there had been anyone to watch, it might have been fairly amusing. But

there wasn't and Gilligan himself wasn't at all amused.

Once he had flopped into the raft he tried to orient himself. The one

thing that hadn't changed was the fog. It was dense and thick everywhere.

The air was a good deal colder than the water, so that wasn't astonishing,

but it didn't explain why the water was so warm.

He pulled the seat pack into the raft and set it on his lap while he undid

the catches on the bottom. Inside was a standard Air Force survival kit,

including food, medical supplies and a lot of other necessities. Right now

he was most interested in the radio and the emergency transponder.

The radio was about the size of a pack of cigarettes. Eagerly Gilligan

extended the antenna and trailed the ground wire over the side into the

water. Then he tried the radio. Only a hiss and crackle of static came out

of the speaker.

Grimacing, Gilligan carefully clipped the radio to the breast pocket of

his flight suit. Next he pulled out the transponder and examined it.

The transponder was bigger than the survival radio, but it did more. When

it received a signal indicating an aircraft was in the area it transmitted

a powerful homing signal. Just now it was silent as the grave.

Gilligan punched the self-test button on the receiver and watched the LED

indicator light up. Then he studied the other indicator for a few minutes

and his expression got grimmer and grimmer.

Every military aircraft and almost all airliners and business aircraft

carry beacons which would trigger his transponder. Gilligan knew for a

fact that an AWACS and several other aircraft should have been within

range. If even one plane was above the horizon, the device should have

been screaming its little electronic heart out. Yet the self-test said it

was working.

Either the self-test was lying or there were no planes above the horizon.

Considering what the rest of this business had been like, Gilligan didn't

think the transponder was broken.

He pulled out his compass. He didn't expect it to work this far north and

he wasn't disappointed.

There was one very non-standard item in Major Michael Francis Xavier

Gilligan's survival kit. A 9mm Beretta automatic with three fourteen-round

magazines and a black nylon Bianchi shoulder holster to match. He

inspected the pistol, slammed one of the magazines home and jacked back

the slide. Then he struggled into the shoulder holster's harness.

Then he felt a lot better.

* * *

Back at the base the people were feeling worse as the minutes ticked by.

The general wasn't happy, Ozzie Sharp wasn't happy, the squadron commander

wasn't happy and unhappiest of all was the young captain who ran the

base's rescue operation.

"We got on his last known position quickly and flew an expanding spiral

search," the captain explained. "Then we did it again with a different

aircraft and crew. We have had aircraft on top almost constantly. There is

no voice communication and no transponder signal."

"What about the Russians?"

"They say they haven't seen any sign of him."

"And you believe them?"

"It's credible," Ozzie Sharp said. "The Russians returned to their base

with all their missiles still on their wings." No one bothered to ask how

he knew.

The general grunted. Then his head snapped up and he transfixed the young

captain with a steely-eyed stare.

"Why the bloody hell can't you even find the area where he went down?"

"Sir, this is a very unusual situation. He had sent his wingman back, so

we don't have as much information as we normally do." The captain thought

about explaining how well they were doing to have gotten this far in the

few hours since the missing pilot's wingman had broken out of the dead

zone. Then he caught the general's eye again and decided not to.

"Have your crews found anything unusual?" Sharp asked. "Any unusual

readings or problems with your instruments?"

"None, sir. As far as we can tell, there's nothing in that fog but more

fog."

The expression on Sharp's face made the general seem mild by comparison.

"We're going over the area again," the captain offered quickly. "But so

far there's no sign of Major Gilligan or his plane."

"Nothing on the transponder?" the general asked.

"Nossir," the officer said.

"Captain, I thought this sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen."

"It isn't, sir."

It's as if he dropped off the face of the earth, the captain thought. But

it was bad form to say something like that.

Major Gilligan drifted through the fog and tried to figure out what the

hell had happened to him. He didn't have the faintest idea where he was,

but increasingly he doubted it was anywhere near Alaska. There was still

fog all around him, but when the sun broke through it was bright, warm and

too high in the sky, totally unlike anything he had experienced in Alaska.

He could hear the sound of surf off to his left. Surf usually meant land

of some kind, so that was as good a direction as any. Besides, the fog

seemed to be marginally thinner that way.

Major Michael Francis Xavier Gilligan began paddling grimly toward the

sound of the waves.

Twenty-six: GILLIGAN'S ISLAND

Gilligan saw the land almost as soon as he broke out of the fog bank. One

minute he was paddling along surrounded by whiteness and the next he was

out under sunny skies with only an occasional puff of fleecy white clouds.

Behind him the fog looked like a wall.

Ahead of him he could see a shore fringed with trees, and hills behind.

Between him and that shore waves beat on a reef, making the noise that had

drawn him here.

Gilligan studied the situation as best he could sitting in his raft.

Fortunately the current wasn't strong here and the tide was high. He

thought about trying to find a channel, but he decided that would cost him

more energy than he could afford. So he picked the best-looking spot and

paddled toward it.

It took perhaps an hour for Gilligan to negotiate the reef and another

forty-five minutes or so to cross the lagoon behind it. As he crossed the

lagoon, Gilligan had a chance to admire "his" island. It was worth

admiring, he had to admit. The black sand beach was smooth and unmarred.

The trees behind it were tall and tropic green. The place looked like a

travel poster.

A travel poster for a deserted island, he thought. There was no sign of

footprints, tire tracks, roads or trails. The detritus along the tide line

included not one beer can, plastic jug or bottle.

Reflexively he scanned the sky for contrails. There were very few places

in the world where you could not see jet tracks in the sky, but apparently

this was one of them. Except for the clouds and the fog on the water

behind him there was nothing in the sky but the bright tropical sun.

Wherever I am, with scenery like this there's sure to be a Club Med or

something close by.

After pulling his raft up on the beach above the tide line, Gilligan

stripped off his life vest, arctic survival suit and G-suit, stowed his

gear, checked his radios again and started off down the beach. Either this

place was as deserted as it looked or it wasn't and he stood a better

chance of finding either people or food if he stayed on the beach.

After almost an hour of walking he found nothing to show that the place

was or ever had been inhabited. He had stopped twice to empty the sand out

of his boots. Finally he tied the laces together and slung them around his

neck so he could walk barefoot through the fine black sand.

Crabs skittered across the beach, gulls wheeled over the water and an

occasional brightly colored bird flashed through the trees. But there was

not a single sign of human life.

Damn it, he thought, scanning the sky again. Places like this just don't

exist anymore. He looked down the long, pristine stretch of beach. And if

they do, I want to retire here!

He had been walking perhaps half a mile barefoot when he found a place

where a boat had pulled up. Not a boat, he corrected, an amphibious

tractor. The signs were clear enough. The place where it had come out of

the water had been washed away by the tide, but he could clearly see where

it had pulled up above the tide line and then the tread marks where it had

churned over the soft sand and in among the trees between the tread marks

was a furrow as if the vehicle had not retracted its rudder. Following the

line he could even see where several branches had been broken off in its

passage.

Gilligan paused and considered. An amphtrack implied military. Even in

backwaters like this civilians didn't own them. That meant there was an

element of risk in meeting the tractor and its crew. On the other hand,

there was also the possibility of rescue.

He studied the marks carefully. Although he was no expert, he knew that

the amphibious tractors of the U.S. Marines drove through the water on

special treads with extra-deep cleats. Soviet equipment used regular

treads and either propellers or water jets. But the sand was much too fine

and soft to give him any clue. He could only see that something big and

not wheeled had come this way.

What the hell, this is the era of glasnost. We're all supposed to be

friends these days. He sat down on a tree root and put his boots on. Then

he checked his pistol. Still, it never hurts to be careful.

Cautiously, Major Mick Gilligan set off into the forest in pursuit of the

vehicle.

The trail was surprisingly difficult to follow. The amphtrack had not torn

up the forest floor as much as he expected. There were no clear tread

marks and in many places broken branches offered clearer indications than

the tracks. Still, you can't move something that big through a wooded area

without leaving a plain trail.

Except for the breeze in the trees and an occasional bird or animal call,

the woods were silent. There was no sound of an engine, which made

Gilligan even more cautious. But there were no voices, either. Perhaps

they were too far ahead for him to hear.

Gilligan was a pilot, not a woodsman. He had to divide his attention

between trying to follow the trail, trying not to walk into a tree and

trying to scout ahead. So it wasn't surprising he stepped into the

clearing without seeing Patrol Two standing in the trees on the other

side.

Then the dragon rider shifted. Gilligan caught the motion and looked up.

Then he stared-first at the weapon and then at the wielder.

The bow was nearly as tall as she was and the limbs were of unequal

length. Gilligan remembered seeing something like that when he had been

stationed in Japan and he had gone to a demonstration of traditional

Japanese archery. But the person carrying it was anything but Japanese.

To Gilligan she looked like something out of a Robin Hood movie. She wore

thigh-high boots of soft brown leather, tight breeches that bloused out at

the thigh and a fleece-lined vest over a close-fitting tunic. She was

tall, nearly as tall as he was, and slender. Her hair was cornsilk blonde

and freckles dusted her nose. The eyes were pure, pale blue and very, very

serious. The arrow in her bow was aimed straight at his midriff.

"Uh, hi," Gilligan said.

Twenty-seven: ENCOUNTER

Karin studied the stranger carefully without shifting the aim of the

arrow. He was a big man, broad shouldered and apparently well muscled,

although it was hard to tell through his clothing. He wore a drab green

coverall with straps, pockets and strange black runes scattered over it.

The thing in his hand was black and shiny and he handled it like a weapon,

although Karin had never seen its like.

In all their patrolling, the dragon riders had never seen a human in this

place. Indeed, they had been told there were only two humans among the

enemy and they never left their castle. Where did this one come from?

He didn't act like one of the enemy, she thought. In fact he seemed more

confused than hostile. Still better to be safe, so she simply nodded to

him without moving the bow.

"I'm Major Michael Gilligan, United States Air Force. I, ah, had a little

trouble back there and I need to contact my unit." He stopped, as if

expecting a response. "Um, I don't suppose there's a phone around here

anywhere?"

"Air Force? You are a flier then?"

"Yes, ma'am. Only, as I say, I had a little trouble and came down in the

water."

"And your mount?"

"Down at sea."

The poor man's dragon had drowned! To Karin, who had only narrowly avoided

the same fate, the tragedy was doubly poignant.

"I'm very sorry," she said, lowering her bow. "I am called Karin and I too

am a flier."

Slowly and with exaggerated care, the man put the black metal thing in a

pouch under his armpit. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am. Ah, about that phone

. . . ?"

"I do not think you will find one here," Karin told him, not quite

comprehending what a "phone" was.

"I kind of figured that," he said. "Where are we, anyway?"

"I am not quite sure," she admitted. "I think it is the western shore of

the main island in the Bubble World."

"Bubble World?" he asked blankly.

"The World between the Worlds. I do not pretend to understand it, but our

wizards say that it is connected at one end to our World and at the other

end to the World from whence came the Sparrow."

"Sparrow? Excuse me, ma'am, but I'm just plain confused."

"Of course! You must be from the other World, the Sparrow's World." She

smiled. "This must all be very strange to you, I know."

"Yes, ma'am!" he said fervently. "It certainly is that."

"Well, come back to my camp then and we can talk. Oh, and stop calling me

ma'am. I am neither a witch, a wizard nor an elder and I am called Karin."

He looked at her in a way Karin found rather pleasant. "No ma'am-I mean,

Karin-you are definitely not an old witch!"

This, Major Mick Gilligan told himself firmly, has gotta be a

hallucination. He was probably lying in a hospital bed somewhere drugged

out of his skull after being fished out of the Bering Sea. He wondered if

his nurse looked anything like Karin.

Still, he thought, hallucination or not, I've gotta play it like it's

real. So far it hadn't been too bad. Stuck on a deserted island with a

beautiful girl, even a beautiful girl who thought she was William Tell.

No, that wasn't half bad for a hallucination.

"My camp is just over there," Karin said, pointing toward an especially

thick clump of trees.

"Where's your vehicle?" Gilligan asked.

"No vehicle, only Stigi and myself," Karin told him as they stepped into

the camp.

"But we've been following . . ." Gilligan began.

Then he saw the dragon.

Stigi was only average size for a cavalry mount-which is to say he was

eighty feet long and his wings would probably span as much when fully

extended.

An eighty-foot wingspan on an airplane wouldn't have impressed Gilligan

particularly. Eighty feet of bat wings on a scaled, fanged monster who

looked ready to breathe fire at any second was very impressive.

Gilligan's jaw dropped and he licked his lips. "That's, that's a . . ."

"That is Stigi," Karin supplied, strolling over to the monster and patting

its scaly shoulder just in front of its left wing.

The dragon raised its head about ten feet off the ground and regarded

Gilligan with a football-sized golden eye.

"Does it fly?"

"Of course he flies," Karin said. "How else would we get here?"

"Hoo boy," said Major Mick Gilligan. "Oh boy."

Karin's camp was well off the beach, in a fold in the ground well-shaded

by trees. The dragon took up a good half the space, but there was still

room for a small fire and a simple canopy made with something like a

shelter half.

"This is pretty cozy," Gilligan said as he looked around.

"I am a scout," Karin explained. "There is always the possibility of being

caught away from my base and having to forage. So," she shrugged, "we are

prepared."

"There aren't many places we can land away from our bases," Mick told her.

"If something goes wrong we have to bail out."

"Bail out?"

"Use our ejection seats."

"Ejection seats?"

He looked over at the dragon. "Yeah, I guess you don't have much call for

those."

"Now," Karin said, settling herself on a log by the fire, "what happened

to you, Major?"

"It's Mick, as long as we're on a first-name basis."

Karin frowned prettily. "I thought you said your name was Major."

"No, that's my rank. My first name's Michael, but everyone calls me Mick."

"Ah," Karin said. "When Stigi and I are in the air we are called Patrol

Two."

"That's like a call sign. I was Eagle One on my last mission."

"What happened to you?"

Gilligan sighed. "Kind of a long story. Basically we were getting some

peculiar-ah, indications-from an area out over the ocean and they sent us

out to look. My wingman and I found something, but we couldn't communicate

with our base. I sent him back and went on in for a closer look. There was

a little tussle and I came out on the short end."

It was Karin's turn to sigh. "That is more or less what happened to me. I

was out on single patrol, near the great fog bank where this World

connects to yours, when I was attacked from behind. I managed to avoid the

attacker and I even got a shot off at it, but in the maneuvering Stigi

sprained his wing."

"Sprained it?"

"Our dragons seldom hurt themselves so, but this is a strange place and

things are not exactly as they are in our world."

"They're not as they are in our world, either," Gilligan said, looking

over at Stigi. The dragon's head was resting on the ground but one

unwinking yellow eye was fixed on Gilligan.

"What jumped you, another dragon?" he asked as he turned so he didn't have

to look at the dragon looking at him.

Karin frowned. "Something strange. It was all gray and roared as it came.

I did not get a good look at it."

Uh-oh, Gilligan thought. Gray and roaring and came at her from behind. Hoo

boy.

To cover himself he asked the first non-personal question that came to

mind. "You keep talking about different worlds. What do you mean?"

"There is our World, where magic holds sway. There is your World, where I

gather magic works poorly or not at all?" He nodded and she went on. "And

there is this World, where both the things of our world and the things of

your world work after a fashion. But this World is new. Some say it was

created by our enemies."

"Your enemies?"

"Powerful wizards who command legions of non-living beings," Karin

explained. "It is said they prepare war against both your world and ours.

But surely you know this?"

"All we know is that there's something funny going on out over the ocean.

We thought maybe it was someone from our world. That's why I was sent to

investigate."

The dragon rider frowned. "If that is all your people know then surely you

must return to bear word to them."

"That's my plan."

Karin sighed. "I wish I could contact my base, but my communications

crystal stopped working just before I was attacked. I am sure my squadron

commander would know what to do."

"You seem to be doing all right," Gilligan said, looking around the camp

site.

Karin smiled. She had a wonderful smile, Gilligan noticed. Then she

sobered. "Thank you, but I feel so inadequate. I have been a rider for

just two seasons. I have never been in combat before. In that time there

has been no one to fight."

"I know the feeling," Gilligan told her. "I've been in for ten years, I've

got about 1800 hours in F-15s and I've never been in combat either." He

had missed Iraq because he'd been in the hospital with hepatitis, but he

didn't tell her that.

Karin looked astonished. "Ten years and never a battle?"

"We've been at peace all that time," Gilligan said. Well, more or less.

"Actually we've been at peace for almost twenty-five years and we haven't

had a major war in nearly fifty."

"Forgive me, but if that is so then why do you maintain fighting fliers?"

"Because for most of that time we've been close to war. My nation and

another great nation were ready to go to war at a moment's notice."

"Yet you did not? You must be remarkably peace-loving in spite of it."

Gilligan grinned mirthlessly. "Not peace-loving. Scared. We got too good

at it. We developed weapons that would let us destroy cities in an

eyeblink. Weapons we had no defenses against. All of a sudden a major war

didn't look real cost effective."

Karin shivered. "I do not think I would like to see war in your world."

"Neither would we," Gilligan told her.

"But," Karin said thoughtfully, "with such weapons you would be powerful

allies against our enemies."

"Maybe. I don't make policy, but I'm sure willing to carry the word back

to the people who do."

"We must get you back to your World, then."

"You mean you can get me home?"

"The Mighty at the Capital certainly can. The Sparrow knows how."

"But first we've got to get to your Capital. Are they going to come

looking for you?"

Karin shrugged. "Probably. But they dare not search too long or too hard.

Magical methods work poorly here and we are too close to our enemies' hold

to risk many riders and dragons."

"So they aren't likely to find us."

"No, but I do not think that will matter. Once Stigi's wing is healed, he

will be able to carry us back to my people."

Gilligan looked over at the snoring dragon. "You mean that thing can

really get us out of here?"

"In easy stages, of course. Stigi can carry two for a ways and there are

many reefs and islands where we can rest."

"That's something to look forward to, anyway."

"Meanwhile," Karin said, getting up. "It is late and morning comes early.

Let us to bed."

Mick Gilligan fell asleep that night and dreamed about flying and girls

with blonde hair and freckles.

Twenty-eight: IMAGE ENHANCEMENT

Quite a collection of brass, Willie Sherman thought to herself. It wasn't

the biggest group she'd ever worked with and it wasn't the highest

ranking, but it was still two generals, a gaggle of colonels of both types

and a brother who was obviously some kind of high-up spook. Pretty

impressive.

Not that Master Sergeant Wiletta Sherman was impressed. After being in for

eighteen years there wasn't a lot left that could impress her.

Less than twenty-four hours ago she had been at Edwards AFB in the

California desert helping to test a new filmless imaging system. She had

been ordered to Alaska so quickly she'd just had time to throw a winter

uniform into a suitcase and grab a few toiletries.

Unfortunately whoever was responsible for this building had never heard of

the DOD energy conservation guidelines. It had to be eighty-five degrees

and she was already sweating in her heavy blue wool uniform.

If it weren't for all the brass she would have taken her jacket off. But

no one else had, so she just sweated.

"Everybody here?" asked the ranking two-star. "Okay, pull it up and let's

see what we got."

Willie hit a couple of keys to call up the file on the screen. Before she

got here someone had already gone through the tape, picked out the best

images and digitized them. So all she had to do was the processing.

The workstation she was using wasn't much bigger than a personal computer

tied to a compact refrigerator, but it had cost the government nearly a

million dollars. She didn't know how many millions had gone into the

software, but it obviously hadn't been cheap. For Willie, who had started

her career analyzing photographs of North Vietnam with a binocular

microscope, it was a lot more impressive than her audience.

After a couple of seconds the image flashed on the screen. Willie looked

at it and her eyes went wide. Some asshole was playing tricks, in front of

the goddamn generals, no less!

The picture was obviously taken at long range but it was clear enough.

Against a background of fleecy gray clouds a dragon sailed along with its

wings extended. There was a rider on its back just forward of the wings.

Beautiful job, though. There was no sign of a matte line or the kinds of

shadow inconsistencies that usually trip up faked photographs-not that

that was going to save the poor bastard who was responsible.

Willie braced for the inevitable explosion. It didn't come. All the

generals and colonels were staring at the picture as if it made sense.

Some of them looked sideways at each other, as if they wanted to say

something, but none of them opened their mouths.

"Hmm, ah yes," the major general said. "You're sure this is, ah, correct?"

"I unloaded the tape and digitized the image myself," said the colonel in

charge of the base's imaging section.

"And this is the best image that was on the tape?"

"Ah, yes sir," said the colonel. "None of them are any better and they

all, um, show the same thing."

The major general looked over at the black man in the flight suit with no

insignia and the brother looked back at the general. Not a muscle in

either man's face moved.

"Well then," the general said briskly. "We'll have to use this one." He

peered at the screen again. "Although it is a little out of focus."

It's a dragon, you fucking moron! Willie Sherman thought. But in the Air

Force there are times when you protest and there are times when you keep

your mouth shut. In her climb to master sergeant she had learned which was

which and this was definitely a time to shut up and soldier.

"Let's check it against known aircraft first," the head of the image

processing section said.

Try checking it against Saturday morning cartoons, Willie thought. But she

entered the command anyway.

Quickly the machine ran through the profiles of Soviet and NATO aircraft.

"No match, sir," Willie reported without taking her eyes off the screen.

Even smiling would be bad form and she wasn't sure she could keep a

straight face if she met someone's eyes.

The major general nodded. "A new type then."

"That's what we suspected all along," the man with no insignia said.

"Let's see if we can get some more detail," the imaging colonel said. "Try

stretching the contrast."

Without comment Willie used the mouse to indicate the new contrast range.

Instantly the dragon and rider seemed to fuzz and smooth out as every

shade of color broke down into sixteen closely related shades.

"Look there along the trailing edge of the wing," said one of the other

colonels. "That's obviously some different kind of material."

"Radar absorbing," said the spook. "If you look at the way the trailing

edge is scalloped you'll see that it has some resemblance to the trailing

edge of the B-2."

"Might also be radiators to dump infra red," one of the other colonels

said.

The brigadier general rubbed his chin. "Plausible. Okay, assume they're

radiators. They'd be flat black, wouldn't they?"

The imaging colonel nodded. "That gives us a color reference. Make them

flat black."

I can't believe you people are taking this seriously! Willie thought. But

what she said was, "Yes, sir."

Making the rear of the wings flat black changed the colors on the rest of

the image, muting them and fuzzing the details even further.

"Okay," the two-star general said. "Now, where are the tail surfaces?"

"If you look closely at the tail boom you'll see it's somewhat flattened,"

the imaging colonel told him. "The entire thing is apparently an

empennage."

"Enhance that, will you?" the brigadier asked. "Let's see if we can bring

out the detail along the boom."

"Try compressing the tones there," suggested the imaging colonel.

Willie marked out the tail with her mouse and compressed the colors. Now

four or five shades on the tail were rendered as one. The thing on the

screen didn't look like a dragon anymore, but it didn't look like much of

anything else either.

Slowly and gradually, one change at a time, the gaggle of officers used a

million-dollar workstation to enhance a clear picture of a dragon into

something they could accept.

By the time they broke for dinner they were arguing over the serial

numbers on the tail.

Twenty-nine: HUNTING PARTY

It was still cool and gray when Mick awoke, but Karin was already

stirring. She had taken the quiver from the pile of harness and slung it

over her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he asked, throwing back the blanket.

"I must hunt to feed my mount," the dragon rider said, holding her bow

horizontally and sighting down the string.

Mick Gilligan compared the monster before him to his dog at home and then

computed the amount of dog food it would take to make a meal for a

fifty-foot-long golden retriever.

"An elephant a day?"

"Not so much," Karin shook her head and then brushed a wisp of golden hair

off her forehead. "Dragons are related in part to lizards and magical

besides. They do not eat as much as you would suppose."

"Still, its going to take a lot of meat."

"I know where to find that. There is open country not far from here and

large game to be had. Will you hunt with me?"

At home Mick had gone deer hunting occasionally, without much luck. On the

other hand the thought of being stuck in camp all day with an overgrown

iguana with a sore wing didn't appeal to him either.

"Sure," he said. "Let me get boots on."

Karin led off at a brisk pace through the forest. Trailing behind her

Gilligan found himself admiring the way she moved lithely through the

undergrowth-and the swing of her hips in her tight riding breeches. He

shook the thought off and tried to concentrate on business.

Gradually the trees thinned and the underbrush diminished until the forest

became almost parklike. Once a herd of deer or something like them went

bounding away at their passage. Karin ignored them, obviously intent on

bigger game.

After perhaps three miles the forest petered out altogether and they moved

out onto a broad plain. The trees were reduced to occasional clumps and

the grass varied between knee and waist high.

Karin stopped and raised her head as if she was sniffing the air. Then she

pointed off to their left and, motioning Gilligan to silence, she started

off in that direction.

Gilligan heard their prey before he saw it. The wind brought crackling and

crashing as if a number of large animals were moving about. As they got

closer he could smell them as well, a faint odor that reminded him of

nothing so much as the elephant house in the zoo.

The dragon rider moved through the grass silently with a grace that made

it seem effortless. Gilligan, trying to move quietly, found it wasn't

effortless at all. He had to keep his eyes on the ground in order to keep

from stepping on dry leaves or twigs. He was so intent on trying to move

quietly he almost ran into Karin when she stopped suddenly. Then he looked

up and saw what they were hunting.

Dinosaurs! Gilligan thought. There were about a dozen of them in a clump

of trees perhaps a hundred and fifty yards off. They were bipedal and

balanced themselves with their long tails while they used their smaller

forearms to pull branches down to the small heads on their snakelike necks

and then nipped off the leaves and buds. They were striped dusty gray and

green and they didn't look like any dinosaurs he had ever seen pictures

of. But they were definitely large and reptilian.

While Gilligan had been staring at the animals, Karin had slipped to one

side and dropped down on one knee. Slowly and carefully she drew the bow

to full extension, string and arrow kissing her lip. Then she released.

Suddenly an arrow sprouted from the flank of one of the dinosaurs. The

beast stopped feeding, looked down at its tormentor, honked once and then

dropped like a sack of sand.

Instantly the other dinosaurs fled, honking and bellowing, knocking over a

small tree in their flight.

As the noise of the herd faded into the distance Karin and Mick moved up

to the carcass.

"They have no fear of humans," Karin said, surveying her kill. "If all the

beasts on this island are like that I will have no trouble keeping Stigi

fed."

"As long as they don't stampede toward you when you shoot one," Gilligan

said.

"Such animals almost always run upwind when frightened," Karin told him.

"That way they can smell what is ahead of them."

"Great," Mick said, looking at the kill. "Now, how do we get it back to

camp?"

"That will not be necessary. Stigi can walk. I will go and get him. Can

you stay here with the kill?"

"Sure."

"Oh, and do not let predators get at the carcass. Stigi expects to be

first on a kill and it upsets him when he is not."

Mick thought of Stigi angry. "Right," he said.

Karin nodded and strode off the way they had come.

"Hey, wait a minute! How do I keep predators off this carcass?"

Karin turned back to him. "Use your weapon," she called and then

disappeared in the brush.

Mick drew the 9mm automatic and looked at it sourly. Then he looked over

at the elephant-sized monster he was supposed to be guarding. Then he

thought about the kind of thing that was likely to prey on something the

size of an elephant.

"Right," he said again.

* * *

The sun was close to the horizon when Stigi waddled out of the forest with

Karin alongside. Mick moved to meet them, but Stigi drew back his head and

hissed like a jet engine starting up. Mick took the hint and backed off.

"He does not like you," Karin said, quite unnecessarily. "Perhaps it would

be better if you gathered wood for a fire. It looks as if we shall have to

camp here tonight." Mick noticed that both his and Karin's packs were tied

to the saddle.

Mick retrieved the hand axe and started gathering firewood. After he saw

Stigi tear into the carcass he spent as much time as he could with his

back to the dragon. Stigi's manners ran to the enthusiastic rather than

the polite and Mick, who hated the chore of field dressing a rabbit, was a

little put out by the sight.

By the time Mick had a double armload of firewood Stigi had finished his

meal. The dragon followed docilely behind Karin and settled down near the

fire with a belch that smelled like smog in a butcher shop.

Their own dinner was a thick stew of parched grain, dried fruit and jerky

from Karin's pack. By mutual agreement they had decided to save Gilligan's

rations against future need.

While they ate Stigi washed himself with his tongue like a giant cat and

then curled up and went to sleep. With his belly full he snored

astonishingly loudly.

Around them the plain was alive with the sounds of night birds and the

roars of hunting predators. Gilligan took to running his thumb over the

butt of his pistol and searching the darkness.

"Nothing will come close to us," Karin told him, catching his expression.

"They are afraid of Stigi and the fire."

"What about scavengers after the carcass?"

Karin shook her head. "Especially not the scavengers. Besides, if

something did approach Stigi would sense it instantly and waken."

"What's left of that carcass is going to get pretty ripe in a couple of

days."

"We will not be here that long. Indeed, we would not have camped here

tonight if darkness had not caught us. We need to be back among the trees

for safety."

"Doesn't that just make it easier for things to sneak up on us?"

"Not the predators." Karin pointed outside the firelit circle. "That."

Mick followed her arm with his eyes. Off in the distance there was a

greenish glow against the sky, as if there were a city lit entirely by

mercury vapor lamps just over the horizon.

"What is that?"

"Our enemies' hold," Karin said grimly. "A great castle and fortress."

"So close? They must be on the next island over."

"No," Karin told him. "They are on this island."

Mick started. "Then what the hell are we doing sitting around a campfire?"

"Keeping off predators," Karin said sharply. "Without the fire they would

be a danger, Stigi or no."

"Besides," she added, relaxing slightly, "those of the castle do not hunt

by night."

"If you say so," Mick said neutrally.

"Such has been our experience."

Despite the roaring and the snoring, Mick finally got to sleep that night.

But he didn't sleep easily or comfortably and his dreams weren't nearly as

pleasant as they had been the night before.

Thirty: GRAND REVIEW

Craig looked down from the balcony and out over the serried ranks of his

handiwork.

The narrow valley was full of rank upon rank of war machines. There were

warbots ranging from two-ton Fleas to 200-ton Deathbringers, there were

tanks and armored cars and artillery and jeeps and scout cars and missile

carriers and on and on. They were there by the companies and battalions

and regiments, by the hundreds and the thousands. They packed the valley

and spilled back through the enormous portal at the valley's head into the

very bowels of the mountain. And over it all, perched on a reviewing stand

carved out of living rock, was their creator.

Looking them over, Craig reflected he had come a long way since those

first crude robots.

Now for the test. He had marked off hundreds of square miles of desert

south of the castle for a proving ground. There he would pit his creations

against each other to test his tactics and designs. When the battles for

the control of the new world began he wanted his armies to be perfect.

Flanked by his robot servants, Craig shifted in his elaborately carved

chair. The other chair on the platform was empty. Mikey had sent word at

the last minute that he would be too busy to watch the show.

As if he's done anything since we got here, Craig thought. Aside from a

few robots he had whipped up for his own use, Mikey had never touched his

engineering workstation. Craig seldom saw him anymore and he palmed him

off with vague explanations when he tried to ask about his work.

Even if he was busy, he could have taken a couple of hours to see at least

part of the parade, Craig thought. He realized that part of it was

disappointment. He was sure Mikey would be impressed when he saw the

super-weapons he had whipped up. But no, he's too busy even to come to the

damn parade.

Well, it didn't matter. He'd created all this and now he'd work out the

winning tactics on the game board of the desert. When the time came Mikey

would be plenty impressed with how his armies performed in battle. That

was really all that mattered.

He turned to the robot to his right. "Move out," he commanded.

The valley filled with the ear-splitting noise of ten thousand engines

starting up. Clouds of dust roiled over the scene as Craig's army began to

move.

On wheels, on tracks, on legs and on cushions of air, the forces Craig had

fashioned out of magic and engineering began to pass by their creator in

review. In spite of the noise, the choking dust and the diesel and

gasoline fumes, Craig hung over the balcony rail and watched entranced for

hours.

Thirty-one: PICNIC ON PARADISE

Karin was as good as her word. They were breaking camp at dawn and by the

time the sun was full up they were back in the forest. By mid-day they had

found another camp site. The hillside Karin chose was not far from the

plain and its plentiful supply of dragon fodder, but the trees were tall

and broad enough to provide cover even for a dragon. There was a rock

outcropping with an overhang that would shield their fires from prying

eyes and could serve as a lookout spot as well. At the foot of the hill a

small stream wound through the forest.

By the time they had returned to their old camp site and brought their

goods to the new spot, it was late in the afternoon. This time Karin

insisted on gathering the firewood and she brought in several armloads of

dead branches.

"The wood is neither green nor rotten," she explained as she threw down

the third load. "It makes almost no smoke."

Dinner that night was a stew of dried meat, grain and dried fruit, all

from Karin's rations. Tomorrow they could explore and see what kinds of

food they could find in the forest. For tonight it was easier to eat what

they had.

"So tell me about dragon riding," Gilligan said as they scraped the last

of the stew out of their bowls.

"It is much the same everywhere, is it not?"

Gilligan shrugged. "I wouldn't know. We fly airplanes, not dragons."

Karin looked at him strangely.

"Machines," Gilligan explained. "Non-living flying things."

"I see," Karin said slowly and then seemed to gather herself. "Well, it

takes several years to become a flier. You must bond with your dragon, of

course. Then you must learn how to maneuver, how to fly in formation and

combat tactics."

"You mean you actually fight air-to-air combat on those things?"

"Yes."

Gilligan whistled. "That must be something to see. I imagine your tactics

aren't anything like ours."

"Well," Karin said slowly, "there are many things to consider. In general,

the rider who starts with the best position will win. That usually means

diving on your enemy from above with the sun at your back. But of course

there are many other things you must consider. Relative strength, level of

training."

"It's the same with us," Gilligan told her. "If we get in close we try to

have the advantage in height and position. Diving out of the sun is a

favorite tactic."

"We do that also," Karin said.

"Do you break off after one pass?"

"We might. It depends on numbers and your dragon's fighting potential.

Some dragons, like Stigi, are very strong and fierce. In a melee I would

have a considerable advantage." She paused and frowned. "Still, there are

a great many things which can happen in such a situation. Diving on an

enemy and past him is surer."

"Have you ever been in a dog fight?"

"Crave pardon?"

"That's what we call short-range air-to-air combat. Dog fights."

Karin considered. "I see. Yes, the expression is somewhat apt. But no, I

have never been in battle of any sort."

She hesitated for a minute. "Mick, may I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Are you bonded to another?"

Mick looked up from the fire. "I beg your pardon?"

"Bonded? I do not know your customs, but do you have a life companion, a

mate?"

"We get married," Gilligan told her. "I was. Not any more."

"Your wife died? I am sorry."

"No, we're divorced-that means we ended the marriage."

Karin grew solemn. "Among us that is not a thing done easily."

"It isn't easy with us either," Gilligan said, thinking of the lawyers,

the interminable conferences, the constant phone calls and the months of

aching, gaping hurt.

"Forgive me for asking, but how did your wife displease you?"

Gilligan smiled mirthlessly into the campfire. "She didn't displease me. I

displeased her. I think. Or maybe we just displeased each other. Anyway,

she had her choice of rotating to Alaska with me or leaving me, so she

left." He snapped the twig and threw it into the fire.

"Look, it was nobody's fault. Okay? It's just that I'm a pilot and an Air

Force officer and she couldn't handle that."

For a while neither of them said anything. "I understand, somewhat," Karin

said slowly. She sighed. "I was to be married once, while I was in

training. But Johan wanted me to give up flying. I could not do that."

The fire turned the pale skin of her cheeks ruddy and painted reddish

highlights into her blonde hair.

"I couldn't either. God knows I loved Sandi, but I just couldn't give it

up."

Karin looked up at him and smiled slightly. "We are two of a kind then."

"Guess so," Gilligan agreed.

They sat by the fire for a while in companionable silence.

The next morning Karin took Stigi out into the open and carefully

exercised him. She was frowning when she led him back into camp.

"How's the wing?" Mick asked, seeing her expression.

"Not good. It is healing, but only slowly. It may be another half-moon

before Stigi is strong enough to bear us away."

"Is it infected or something?"

"Nothing like that. It is simply taking more time than it should to heal.

If I did not know better I would think he was not properly fed." She

sighed. "As it is, I suspect it is simply the nature of this place. It is

harder for dragons to stay aloft here, you know."

"I hadn't noticed."

She led Stigi back to his resting place and spent the next hour or so

grooming him and talking to him. To Mick, lounging under the overhang, the

sight was remarkable. Beauty and the Beast, he thought.

Karin was still frowning when she left Stigi and came to sit beside him in

the shade.

"Something else wrong with Stigi?"

"No. Nothing like that." She dropped down beside him.

"What then?"

Karin bit her lip. "Mick, there is something else you should know. After

last night . . . The way you describe your mount . . . I think I am the

one who brought you down."

"I know."

She turned to him wide-eyed. "You knew? And you did not tell me."

"I pretty much figured it out the first day. I got a better look at you

than you did at me and unless there were other dragon riders in the area

it pretty much had to be you."

"And you made me gather up my courage to tell you! Thank you very much, I

am sure."

"Hey," he said, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder, "I was the one

who hurt Stigi. I wasn't sure how you'd take that."

"Yes, but you did not mean to."

"And you didn't mean to shoot me down." He grinned. "We're even. By the

way, how did you bring me down?"

"With this," Karin said, reaching behind her and drawing an arrow from the

front part of the quiver.

"Do not touch it," she admonished as she held it up for his inspection.

Gilligan saw the whole arrow, from head to fletching, was made of iron.

Karin pointed to two black dots, one on each side of the broad arrow head.

"These crystals on either side of the head are eyes," she explained,

pointing to the shiny black buttons. "When both can see their target the

arrow's aim is true. There is a spell to keep the target centered in each

crystal."

"Like a guidance head," Gilligan nodded. "But that still doesn't explain

how an arrow brought down a twenty-eight-million-dollar aircraft with

triply redundant everything."

"The death spell," Karin told him. "It paralyzes anything the arrow

strikes."

"So that's why my electronics went to hell." He shook his head. "I'm damn

glad Congress is never going to hear about this."

There was very little they could do. They did some exploring, hunted a bit

and gathered berries and other wild foods from the forest. But that did

not take much time. Karin spent an hour or two working with Stigi every

day and another half hour or so grooming him. Mostly they lazed around

camp and talked while they waited for Stigi's wing to heal.

There was one chore that needed to be done regularly. Stigi was very

efficient at converting dragon food into dragon droppings. Although he was

partially housebroken and used a spot down hill from the camp, the spot

had to be shoveled out and spread around, well mixed with earth. Otherwise

the smell and insects would have made the camp uninhabitable.

Using her hand axe, Karin made them two wooden scoop shovels. They looked

a little odd to Gilligan and the handles were too short for his taste, but

they were much better than using hands.

Every two or three days Karin or Gilligan would "clean the catbox," as

Gilligan insisted on calling it. It was hard, dirty work but it was at

least something to do.

"Well, this part of the woods should be green next year," Gilligan said,

stretching backwards to try to get the kinks out of his back. "You know

this is one thing we never had to worry about with an F-15."

Karin tamped down a mound of mixed earth and dragon dung and looked up.

"Back at the Capital the grooms and stable hands would take care of such

chores. But it is part of dragonriders' training to be able to care for

our mounts in the field."

"Does that include making shovels out of expedient materials?"

"Expedient . . . ? Ah, I see." She smiled in a way Gilligan found utterly

charming. "No, I learned that from my uncle when I was growing up on the

farm. He would make such implements to take to the village and sell." She

looked down at the scoop beside her. "I think he would find these a little

crude, though."

"You grew up with your uncle?"

"My parents died when I was young," Karin said. "A hard winter, not much

food and some malevolent magic." She shrugged. "Life was hard before the

Sparrow brought us new magic."

"Who's this Sparrow?" Mick asked, as much to keep her sitting beside him

as to keep from going back to shovelling.

She turned to him, her blue eyes wide. "You must know the Sparrow. He

comes from your world."

"The only Sparrow I know is an air-to-air missile."

"This Sparrow is a mighty wizard. Near four years ago he broke the entire

Dark League of the South in a great battle of magics. Since then his new

magic has spread across the land, driving back the dark."

"From my world, you say? Do you know where?"

" 'Tis said from a place called the Valley of Quartz."

"Silicon Valley? Yeah, I suppose if we had wizards that's where they'd be.

Have you ever met this guy?"

Karin shook her head. "I am not stationed at the Capital. I have seen him

once, though. He and his fellow wizards, Jerry and Danny." She stopped.

"Are those more of your air-to-air missiles?"

He smiled. "If they are I never heard of them."

"Well, no matter," the dragon rider said with a glance at the horizon. "It

grows late. If we do not finish soon we will have to bathe in the dark."

Gilligan stood up. "I guess you're right." He reached down to help her up

and when she stood up they were almost nose to nose. He held on and their

eyes locked. Then Karin dropped her hands and broke away.

"Quickly," she said with a breathless little laugh. "We would not want to

have to finish on the morrow."

Even working at their best pace, it was still nearly dark when they got

back to their camp. Karin went to the stream to bathe first and Mick

stayed behind to build the fire and start dinner. Once the fire was going

and the stew was bubbling in its pot, he had nothing to do but stare into

the flames and think.

Karin came back from the stream with her clothes over her arm and her

blanket wrapped around her.

"I feel cleaner without them," she explained. "They need to be washed."

"I wish to God you'd put them on," Gilligan said tightly, keeping his

attention riveted on the fire.

"Why?"

"It's easier to take." He looked up at her. "Dammit, lady! Do you have any

idea how hard it is on me to keep my hands off you anyway?"

"Then why try?" Karin asked softly, letting the blanket drop.

The flames traced out the curve of her hip and the swell of her breast and

the light put a ruddy glow in her cheek and highlighted the pale strands

of her hair.

Mick sucked in his breath at the firelit vision before him. Then he

stepped forward and clasped her to him.

"I never did get my bath, you know."

Karin giggled and nuzzled the pit of his shoulder. "You smell all right."

"And if you keep that up, I'm not going to get any sleep either."

"Are you complaining?"

Gilligan leaned over and kissed her. "Hell no. Just observing."

The fire had long since died and the only light came from the stars that

powdered the sky. There was not enough light to see, but that didn't

matter and hadn't mattered for hours. Being shot down, the dragon, none of

it mattered. He hadn't felt this good since Sandi . . . well, not in a

long time. And maybe not even then, come to think of it.

As he bent to her again he noticed that Stigi had very ostentatiously

turned his back on them.

At last they both relaxed, soft and sleepy and warm in each other's arms.

"What is it?" Karin said, feeling Mick tense suddenly.

"I've got to go back, you know," Mick said softly. "If I can find a way

out, I've got to go back."

Karin shifted and snuggled more closely to him. "I understand. I too have

my duty."

"So where does that leave us?"

"It leaves us with meanwhile," Karin told him. "We have meanwhile."

"Yeah," Mick said, reaching out to caress her. "We have meanwhile."

Karin giggled. "Remember today is a hunting day. We will be walking and

away from camp almost the whole day."

"So?"

"So you said you needed sleep."

"Right now," Gilligan said into her ear, "there are things I need more."

Thirty-two: THE ULTIMATE WATER BALLOON

Craig was deep in the design of a new kind of battle armor when one of

Mikey's robot servants came for him.

"The Master commands your presence," the robot said in a Darth Vader voice

of doom.

"You mean Mikey?"

"The Master. Come." With that the robot pivoted on its heel and marched

out the door with Craig hurrying along behind.

Mikey was up on the battlements, standing next to a troughlike contraption

and looking out over the valley.

"What's shaking, dude?" Craig said as he puffed up with the robot guide.

"Shaking? A whole lot. I want you to see my latest invention."

Since Mikey had ignored everything he had done since he made the giant

robot, Craig didn't think this was quite fair. But he didn't object.

Instead he bent over and inspected the device.

"What is that thing?"

"It's a water balloon. The best goddamn water balloon you've ever seen."

It didn't look much like a balloon to Craig. Just a featureless silvery

sphere, like those mirrored balls people used to put on pedestals in

gardens. The sphere was resting in the trough and there were some springs

and some other, less identifiable, bits of machinery underneath.

"What does it do?"

"Watch," Mikey told him. "But put these on first." He snapped his fingers

and the robot stepped forward and proferred a couple of smashed ham

sandwiches.

"Not those, you fucking moron!" Mikey said. "Give him the goddamn goggles!

"Jeez, Craig, you need to do something about these robots. They're so

fucking stupid."

Craig started to tell him it wasn't one of his robots, but Mikey had

already slipped on a pair of dark goggles and was looking back out over

the valley. Craig took the pair of goggles the robot was holding out to

him, wiped the mustard and mayonnaise off the lenses and slipped them on.

Mikey threw a lever on the side of his device and the silvery ball whisked

down the trough and out over the valley in a high, lazy arc. Craig watched

the ball shrink to a dot and then lost it in the sun.

Suddenly the world exploded.

Castle, valley and mountains all disappeared in a blaze of blinding

radiance. Craig squinched his eyes shut but the sight was burned into his

vision. He opened his mouth but he was bowled over backwards as if he had

been slapped by a giant hand. Sand and bits of rock stung his skin and the

wind whipped insanely about him. The parapet shook beneath him until he

was sure the castle was coming down. The noise shook him like a terrier

shakes a rat. All he could do was lie curled up in a ball and scream at

the pain in his ears and the red after-images in his eyes.

Then it was over. As suddenly as it had come the noise and the shaking

stopped. Cautiously, Craig opened his eyes and tried to climb to his feet.

Mikey was standing at the battlement braced like a sea captain facing into

a storm. His hair was blown back and his clothes had been whipped about,

but he stood firm and unrelenting, looking out over the valley. As he

gazed on the roiling clouds of dust and debris below his smile reminded

Craig of a picture he had seen once in Sunday school, of Moses looking out

over the Promised Land.

Craig shook himself and looked around. The pennants on the castle towers

had been torn to shreds by the blast. Half the roof tiles had been blown

off the conical roof of the nearest tower and the chamber below gaped up.

His robot guide lay in a twitching heap, unable to rise.

Mikey said something, but it didn't register on Craig's numbed and ringing

ears.

"What?"

"I said, 'Neat huh?' " Mikey half-shouted.

"What in the hell was that?"

"Like I said, a water balloon."

"Like hell!"

Mikey's smile grew broader. "Nope. Take a sphere of water-just ordinary

water-and squeeze it real hard. Pretty soon the atoms disassociate into

hydrogen and oxygen. Then if you squeeze it hard enough those hydrogen

atoms are forced close enough together that they fuse." He threw up his

hands. "Poof! Instant H-bomb."

"Jesus Christ," Craig said. Then he looked out over the dust-filled

valley. "Jesus H. Fucking Christ on a goddamn rubber crutch!"

"Hey, that was nothing. The castle's shields took most of the blast so we

only got a little of it. And the best part is that the spell to compress

that water is so simple I can make my H-bombs any size I want. A hundred

megatons, two hundred, even a thousand megatons, no problem."

Craig leaned against the battlement to ease his shaky knees. "That's some

water balloon. You ought to put one of those things in the nose of an

ICBM."

"ICBMs? We don' need no steenkin' ICBMs. Combine that with the

teleportation spell. What do you think would happen if you shoved a mother

big bomb down into the planet's crust?"

"Jesus," Craig breathed. "You could sink half a continent!"

Mikey's smile grew wider. "If you do it right you should smash the world."

He looked out past Craig, past the fortress and past the dissipating

cloud.

"The whole fucking world," he repeated dreamily.

Thirty-three: A FRIGHTENED DRAGON

In spite of the night's activities, Karin and Mick got an early start.

Mick caught a quick bath in the freezing stream at first light while Karin

spent time with Stigi. Then they set out on the hunt as dawn turned the

sky red.

The pickings weren't as easy as they had been. The dinosaurs had learned

to be wary of the humans and keeping Stigi fed now involved more stalking.

Fortunately Karin was adept at hunting with a bow.

Still it was nearly noon before they found a likely looking herd and moved

into position downwind for the stalk.

Karin was just sizing up the situation when a second sun blossomed in the

northern sky. In an instant the world turned overexposed blue-white with

stark black shadows, as if a gigantic flashbulb had gone off behind them.

"Get down!" Mick yelled and pulled Karin down beside him.

"What . . ." The dragonrider tried to look back toward the source of the

flash, but Gilligan reached out and forced her head down.

"Don't look! Keep your head down and close your eyes."

"I . . ." Karin begin, but her voice was drowned out when the shock wave

hit.

Gilligan pressed his face into the dirt and screamed at the top of his

lungs as the wall of dust and flying debris passed over them. The wind

yanked at his flight suit and the wind-driven sand stung his exposed skin.

He kept his head down and his eyes screwed shut until the gale ceased.

When he opened his eyes Karin was staring at him in shock. She tried to

get up but at that instant the ground shock wave hit them and she was

knocked first to her knees and then flat as the earth trembled beneath

her. She lay on her stomach and clutched at the ground with clawed fingers

as if she was afraid the shaking would throw her off.

Gilligan waited until everything was still and probably quiet-his ears

were ringing so he couldn't tell-before he climbed shakily to his knees

and looked around.

Dust stained the sky an ugly mustard yellow and dimmed the sun to a

reddish disk. One of the nearby trees had been blown down and limbs had

broken off several others. In the distance a herd of reptiles stampeded

blindly, bellowing their panic across the plain.

"Okay, you can get up now."

Karin's face was white where it was not smudged with dirt and her freckles

stood out starkly.

"Mick, what was that?" She clung to his forearms to hold herself erect.

"Let's get out of here," Gilligan said grimly.

"But Stigi needs to eat."

"He'll have to hunt for himself if we both die of radiation poisoning. Now

let's get the hell out of the open!"

She bent and retrieved her bow. "He will be frightened," she said by way

of agreement.

He's not the only one, Gilligan thought.

Karin was right. Stigi was blundering around roaring in fear and pain. The

campsite was a wreck where the dragon had lumbered through it, flattening

shelters and mashing things into the dirt.

The dragon rider set about the task of trying to calm her mount while

Gilligan gathered everything of value and flung it under the overhanging

rock for protection from fallout. He kept his eye on the skies, looking

for rain clouds.

"Karin, get over here!"

"But Stigi needs me."

"Bring him here then. But get the hell under cover."

She led the dragon over to the rock shelter, still patting his great

scaled neck and talking to him in soothing tones.

"Get in here with me and have him lay down next to the overhang so he

blocks the entrance," Gilligan commanded.

For once Stigi did not object to Gilligan's proximity. It was hard to

imagine an eighty-foot monster cowering, but this one was shivering from

fang to tail tip. Karin kept patting his back and talking to the dragon

even after it lay down.

Gilligan checked his shoulder holster and found that about a handful of

sand had gotten into it when he hit the dirt. Rummaging through the

haphazard pile of equipment he found his cleaning kit and proceeded to

field strip and clean his Beretta.

Objectively it didn't help much, but it made him feel better.

"You said you would tell me what that was later," Karin said after a time.

"Is now later enough?"

"It was an air burst," Gilligan said tightly. "I don't know how big

because I don't know how far away."

He looked out around the quaking dragon at the sky. "Pretty far, I think.

There's no sign of blast-induced rain."

"It wasn't natural, was it? I mean it isn't something that just happens

here?"

"No, it's manmade. Or something made anyway."

Karin eyed him sideways. "And you have seen them before?"

"Never. I always hoped I never would." He slid the pistol back into its

holster. "You remember I told you that we would fight an all-out war with

weapons that could destroy a city in the blink of an eye? That was one of

those weapons."

"Then your people . . . ?"

"No!" Karin jerked back as if she had been slapped at the violence of his

reply. "I told you we'd never use them unless we were attacked. Nobody

would. We're all too afraid of them."

"I can see why."

"Besides, if we did use them we wouldn't set one off over a deserted plain

like that and we wouldn't use just one of them."

"But you are expecting more of them. You make us stay under the rocks."

 

"If there were going to be more we never would have gotten off the plain.

We're here because of fallout."

"What is that?"

He turned to her. "Nuclear weapons don't just make a big explosion. They

produce all kinds of poisonous byproducts. Even if the blast doesn't get

you you can still sicken or die. That stuff will be coming out of the sky

for the next few hours and it will be dangerous for the next few days.

That blast was a pure air burst so there won't be as much fallout as there

could have been. The wind is generally away from us so the plume may not

reach us. We may be safe, but I don't want to take chances."

"What about Stigi?"

"You see any place around here that could shelter him?"

Karin shook her head reluctantly.

"Besides, he may not be as affected by this stuff as we are." For all I

know he's got a nuclear reactor in his gut, Gilligan thought. He wondered

if anyone had ever worked out the dose response tables for a firebreathing

dragon.

There was no rain that night, and no more explosions. Sometime on toward

dawn Gilligan finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep. He dreamed of

ruined deserted cities and Karin with her hair falling out.

He awoke numb and muzzy headed. The sun was above the horizon, Karin was

gone and so was Stigi.

He cast about frantically for a moment, but Karin's pack and Stigi's

saddle were still where he had piled them. Obviously Karin expected to be

back soon. Gilligan forced himself to sit down under the overhang and

wait.

Perhaps an hour later Karin led Stigi back up the path and into the

wrecked campsite.

Heedless of the possibility of fallout or Stigi's steamwhistle snort, he

raced across the clearing to meet them. "Karin, I was worried about you,"

Gilligan said as he took her in his arms. They kissed deeply and then

Karin broke away.

"Stigi was restless so I took him to the stream for a bath," she

explained. "It always calms him."

"That wasn't safe. We don't know we're out of the fallout plume."

"Oh, but that thing did not leave poison here," Karin said almost gaily.

"What makes you so sure?"

"This," she said, digging into her pouch and producing a small object

apparently carved out of jet. "Scouts carry these because sometimes we

must forage abroad. It tells us if something is safe to eat or drink. I

checked everything I could find and there was no sign of harm."

"I don't know how good it is at detecting fallout," Gilligan said

dubiously.

Karin returned the amulet to her pouch. "It has never failed us."

Mick nodded. It was possible serious fallout hadn't reached this far and

they had nothing to worry about. If the fallout had reached them they were

already facing a bout of radiation sickness. Logically there was no reason

to believe Karin's magic rock was telling the truth, but it felt better

that way.

He hugged her again "I was worried about you," he said with his nose and

lips buried in the hair on her neck.

"I am sorry, love."

"That's the first time you called me that."

Karin pulled her head away and laid her fingertips on his cheek.

"Well?"

"Well, I like it." He kissed her again.

After a long moment Karin pulled away. "Mick, we have to talk."

"Okay, about what?"

"What happened yesterday. We cannot stay here now."

"You got that right. The best thing would be to move to the opposite end

of the island, as far away from that castle . . ."

"No," Karin cut him off. "I need to go the other way. I need to get as

close to that castle as I can to spy out its defenses."

Mick dropped his arms to his sides.

"One of those 'defenses' you're talking about is nuclear weapons. That's

crazy!"

"Nevertheless," Karin said quietly, "I must."

"Look, at least wait until Stigi's wing is healed. That's, what, another

week?"

"Longer than that, I fear. He apparently tried to fly yesterday in his

panic and re-injured it."

"So you're going to walk?"

"I have no other choice."

"The hell you don't! You can stay here like a sensible person. Until help

arrives or until that dragon can fly."

"And meanwhile the ones in that castle will be brewing up who knows what

kind of horrors," Karin blazed back. "No. I have my duty as a scout and

flier and I will not shirk it to lie around here while my very world is

threatened."

"I don't know how it is in the dragon cavalry, but in the Air Force a

recon pilot's first job is to get the information back to his base."

"A scout's first job is to gather information. Having no way of getting

anything back, I can only gather more."

"I'll bet you've got some kind of regulation against this kind of

behavior," Gilligan said with a shrewdness born of desperation.

"There is also a regulation saying regulations are guides and must be

applied with wisdom. This is an unusual situation and I must take unusual

action."

Like me sending Smitty back and pressing on alone, Gilligan thought.

Somehow he felt that the universe was getting even with him for that.

"What about Stigi?"

Karin frowned. "That is the thing which made it so hard. I will take Stigi

with me. He can walk and dragons can keep a fairly good pace."

"Okay, you feel you've got to scout ahead. You could do it faster once

Stigi's wing heals."

"It will heal just as well on the march as here."

"And if you're caught in the open?"

"That is a chance I must take."

Gilligan opened his mouth and found he didn't have any more arguments.

Karin obviously wasn't thinking straight, but that didn't matter. She was

driven by an overpowering urge to do something, anything, except the

intelligent thing, which was sit and wait.

Intellectually he could understand that. He felt the same way. But the

kind of training it takes to fly a high-performance jet had drummed the

value of patience into him. Dragon riding didn't demand the same

qualities, or maybe Karin was still too inexperienced to have learned

them.

Gilligan considered knocking her out and tying her up. But Karin was lithe

and strong. Then he considered Stigi's likely reaction if he tried it and

quickly discarded the notion.

The dragon rider set her jaw defiantly. "You have your own rations and

equipment. I am sure that you will have no trouble reaching the far end of

the island. I will give you a note so that your story will be believed

should you meet one of our patrols. Then you can send help on to me."

"You're crazy, you know that?"

Karin shrugged. "I have my duty."

Mick stepped forward and grasped her hands in his. "I'm not going to let

you do this. Not alone." Karin looked at him and then smiled.

Hell of an expeditionary force, he thought as he pulled her close and

kissed her hard. Two crazies and a gimpy dragon. Then he opened his eyes

and looked at the woman in his arms.

Still, he thought, there are compensations in being crazy.

They spent the rest of the day packing and headed out across the plain the

next morning. Karin took the lead with Gilligan beside her. Stigi followed

at her heels like an overgrown hound.

The morning was bright and the sky was painted pastel blues and pinks by

the rising sun. Except for an occasional broken limb or an uprooted tree

there was nothing to suggest what had happened here two days ago. The

plains animals had returned to their normal habits and several times they

passed herds of them grazing in the distance.

Once Stigi bridled and snorted as though an animal had come near, but he

quickly relaxed and resumed walking. Either there had been nothing there,

Gilligan decided, or whatever it was had gotten a look at Stigi and

decided not to try anything.

Thirty-four: REC0N BATTLE

For three days they trekked across the plain. The tree-studded veldt gave

way to grassy savanna and the grass grew shorter and sparser. The soil was

brick red now and vegetation grew poorly. Water was something you found in

greenish sinks instead of rivers or streams and trees became a memory.

Several times they saw large columns of dust to the north, as if distant

armies were on the march. They tried to go between them and saw nothing.

The herds had been left behind them on the veldt and now even the

antelopelike runners were scarce.

There were signs, however. Twice they crossed ground which had been torn

up by treads. Once the tread marks were accompanied by what appeared to be

enormous footprints, as if some unimaginable two-legged beast had been

following the vehicles.

On mid-afternoon of the third day they were approaching a low ridge of

reddish earth when Karin called a sudden halt.

"Wait." She held up her hand and dug something out of her pouch. "There is

magic ahead of us."

Gilligan reached for his gun. "What kind?"

"It doesn't tell me that, only . . ."

With a thundering roar a tank burst over the hill. Beside it came three

two-legged robots, springing forward on back-flexing limbs. While the tank

nosed up and over the hill, the robots leaped over the ridge like giant

grasshoppers.

Stigi reared back, wings spread and neck extended, and roared a challenge.

Karin dropped to one knee and had the bow off her shoulder and an arrow

nocked in one fluid motion. Without seeming to aim she fired at the tank.

The arrow hit the tank's armor without seeming effect. With a roar of its

engine it continued down the hill straight at the party.

"Run for it!" Gilligan yelled and dashed to his left to try to circle the

attackers. Seeing his action, Karin broke right.

Stigi had a different idea. The dragon inhaled and blasted a gout of flame

straight ahead, bathing the tank in fire. The flame splashed off the tank,

but here and there it caught. A tiny tongue of orange licked out of the

deck behind the turret. It spouted thick black smoke and grew larger. The

tank stopped and the tongue turned into a gout of orange and black as

something in the machine's engine compartment caught.

Meanwhile Karin had dropped to her knee and fired another arrow at one of

the robots. Again her aim was true and again the robot continued to

advance apparently unheeding.

Karin tried to run again, but as she rose she got tangled in the lower

limb of her bow and went sprawling into the sand. She rolled to the side

and threw her arm up in a futile attempt to shield herself from the

advancing robot.

The robot never noticed. It continued unerringly straight toward the place

where she had been. Then it emitted a despairing whine and toppled into

the sand beside her.

Karin looked up, shook sand from her eyes and tried to locate Mick and

Stigi.

Mick's sudden dash had attracted the attention of two of the robots and

now he was frantically dodging blasts of energy from their snout cannon.

By a combination of broken field running and dive-and-roll, he had managed

to stay ahead of them so far, but the robots had split up and they were

coming at him from different directions.

Karin grabbed another arrow, but Stigi reached Mick first. With a roar,

the dragon charged full on into one of the robots, catching it at knee

level in a way that would have earned him a clipping penalty if they had

been playing football. The robot lurched forward onto its snout, then got

its feet under it and tried to rise.

It got halfway up when a whipping blow from Stigi's tail hammered it to

the ground again. This time the robot didn't try to rise. It swiveled its

body around to face the on-rushing dragon and let loose with a bolt from

its cannon.

Fortunately energy cannons don't work any better than regular ones when

the barrel is full of sand. There was a muffled "whump" and the cannon

barrel glowed cherry red and went limp. Stigi grabbed the

fifteen-foot-tall robot in his powerful jaws and shook it the way a

terrier shakes a rat, slamming it into the ground and tossing it into the

air until pieces began to fly off.

Meanwhile, Karin's arrow had found the third robot. It took two more steps

and collapsed with the iron arrow sticking straight out of its back.

Craig frowned at the glowing display. He had sent a light scout force

scooting along the southern edge of the play area to try to get behind his

opponent's main body. Now something had knocked them out.

Sending a stronger force south to engage whatever his scouts had hit was

bad strategy. It would dilute his main strength. He decided to send a

recon flier south to check it out. Then he turned his attention back to

the battle that was shaping up between his warbot columns and his enemy's

main force. If he worked quickly enough he might be able to catch them in

a pincer.

"Mick, are you all right?"

Gilligan put his hands on his knees and bent forward to take deep, heaving

breaths. He was too winded to talk so he shook his head and made a waving

off motion to Karin.

Mechanically, Karin walked over to the third robot and pulled her arrow

out of its back.

"Stigi, release!" she commanded. With a clank and a clatter, the dragon

reluctantly dropped its much-mangled new toy so Karin could retrieve her

arrow.

By this time Mick had gotten enough breath back to stand up and look

around. Off in the distance he could see plumes of dust rising into the

burning sky. Karin was staring intently at the flaming mass that had been

the tank.

"Come on!" Gilligan grabbed her arm.

"But my arrow!"

"We don't have time," he panted. "Let's get the hell out of here before

reinforcements arrive."

She nodded and they set off, Karin at a fast walk, Gilligan at an

exhausted shamble and Stigi, prancing from pride, bringing up the rear.

After about a half a mile, they stopped for a moment to get their bearings

and let Mick catch his breath.

"Were those more of your people's creations?" Karin asked.

"The only place I've seen stuff like that is on Saturday morning

cartoons." He caught her puzzled look. "No, we don't have anything like

that."

"The enemy then."

"Whatever they were before it's a safe bet they are our enemies now." He

looked out at the dust clouds in the distance.

"I'll bet they are not alone either."

"Probably not," Karin said in a small voice. Then she put her head up. "We

must go more carefully and quietly," she added more firmly.

"What we must do," Mick told her, "is get the hell out of here while we

still have the opportunity."

"You are free to go."

"Look, we dodged the bullet this time, but only barely. What do we do if

we meet a bigger force? And another thing. That unit is going to be

missed. This place has about as much cover as a billiard table and when

they start looking we're going to stand out like bugs on a plate."

"We must find out more," Karin said stubbornly.

Mick threw up his hands.

"All right, but if we're going to commit suicide, let's at least do it

intelligently. Let's find some cover and rest while we work out the best

approach."

Finding cover turned out to be easier said than done. Finally they

discovered a deep wash that offered some protection from ground level

observation. Stigi hunkered down against the bank and made like a rock and

Karin and Mick sat in the shade near his head.

"We had best move only at night from now on," Karin said as she dropped

down next to Gilligan. "That way they cannot see us."

"Don't bet on it. There's a real good chance at least some of that

equipment has infrared sensors. At night we will stand out even better."

"What do you suggest then? Aside from turning back?"

"I think we'd better look for cover. The land's been getting drier ever

since we left our old campsite, so I don't think we're going to find any

forests. But its also been rising. I'd be willing to bet that there are

places not far from here that are cut up by arroyos and canyons. That's

not as good as trees but it will give us some cover."

Karin nodded. "Since the land rises off to the east, that is the way we

should go then."

She stopped and frowned. "What is that sound?"

Gilligan's hearing was damaged from years around jet engines, but he heard

it too, a low, hissing whine. Unlike Karin he knew what it was.

"Get down!" he shouted.

The black bat shape glided over the gully without stopping or turning.

There was no time to hide. Mick and Karin froze where they were. Stigi

opened an eye and for an awful moment Mick was afraid the dragon would

stick his head up to see what was going on, but there were no interesting

smells or sounds so the dragon decided it wasn't worth the effort.

Eventually the flier meandered off to the south and finally over the

horizon. They stayed frozen a long minute more and then relaxed.

"A scout?" Karin said shakily.

"Probably. Trying to find those things we knocked out."

"Then we had best move quickly. Perhaps we can reach those hills you spoke

of by nightfall."

She signalled Stigi to his feet and Gilligan shouldered his pack.

"What the hell is that?" Mikey demanded. He had taken his time coming in

answer to Craig's urgent summons and he obviously wasn't happy about being

called to give a second opinion on a piece of metal.

"I think it's an arrow. We found it sticking in the hull of a burned-out

tank on the edge of the wargame area," Craig told him. "I don't know how

it works yet, but it's magic somehow."

"And all metal, too. What have you got out there? Robot Indians?"

"Whatever it is did a number on one of my Troll class tanks and three

Springer Warbots. One of them was all messed up, like it had been run over

by a bulldozer."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"I just figured you should know about it."

"All right, I know. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to send some more patrols down that way. And mount more sensors

on the stuff I'm testing." He paused. "Oh yeah, I'm going to send drones

out to map and scout this whole fucking island. Maybe there's something

out there we ought to know about."

He looked at Mikey. "I thought maybe you had some magic or technology or

something that could help," he said hesitantly.

"Shit," Mikey said informatively.

"Huh."

"I said shit. S-h-i-t. Shit. That's what all this robot stuff is. It's

shit."

"How are we going to fight without weapons?" Craig demanded.

"And you call those weapons?" Mikey sneered. "Things that can be wiped out

by arrows."

He came around the table and moved close to Craig. "Listen to me, little

man. The ones who brought us here have got power you can't imagine. They

gave us the ability to create fucking anything and what do you do? You

waste your time with comic book toys."

"They're not toys!" Craig yelled. "They're the most powerful weapons man

has yet devised!"

"Man has yet devised," Mikey mimicked. "That's how limited your thinking

is. This hasn't got anything to do with man. We're beyond man." He stepped

back and grew calmer. "You were a mistake, do you know that? Instead of

spending your time really learning about how to dominate worlds, you hide

down here with your toys. Why don't you come up to the real world and let

the Ur-elves show you what power is?"

"I don't like them," Craig mumbled. "They make me uncomfortable."

"And because you're uncomfortable you won't take advantage of what we're

offered. Christ Jesus! Play with your toys. You're too fucking pathetic to

do anything else!" With that he turned and stomped off.

He stopped at the door. "Oh yeah. From now on, if you've got anything to

say to me, you come see me."

"Goddamn motherfucker sonofabitch!" Craig screamed at the door. That

arrogant bag of shit! Just tossing it off like all the work he'd done was

nothing. Just didn't count next to his high and mighty projects.

He grabbed the iron arrow off the table and threw it against the wall. It

clanged off and the wastebasket scuttled under it to catch it as it fell.

Goddamn that sonofabitch! Why, he could take on NATO and the Warsaw Pact

and stomp them both with what he had here. There wasn't an army on earth

that could stand against what was here in the castle and out in the

wargame area.

With an angry gesture he turned on the scanner. The central display showed

the arrays of forces in neat green and gold symbols. Around the edges were

six smaller screens, each showing a view of part of the battlefield in

full color. The units were poised and ready. Except for scouts nothing had

moved since he found the destroyed patrol.

Looking at the main map he saw that a platoon of green tanks was just over

a small rise from a battalion of yellow armor. Perfect situation for the

kind of fast-moving ambush he loved. With the mouse he turned both units

on and took control of the green force. Quickly he moved them into

position hull down behind the ridge and opened fire on the advancing

battalion at barely 200 yards.

Six yellow tanks died in the first salvo and four more before the yellows

could return fire. Their first shots were ineffective but they were

maneuvering for cover and the next green shots only destroyed two more

tanks.

Twelve to nothing. It was the time to scoot, but Craig held his ground,

firing salvo after salvo into the deploying yellow forces.

Now it wasn't all one-sided. The yellow battalion had taken cover and was

returning accurate fire. The battalion's SP battery opened up, walking

volleys of tank-killing shells toward his platoon's position. First one

and then another of his green tanks blew up and turned dark.

"Goddamn you!" Craig yelled and ordered his remaining tanks to charge

directly into the lead elements of the battalion, all guns firing. He lost

two more tanks in the wild charge and then he ran the survivors head-on

into the remains of the battalion's transport section. Tanks ground over

jeeps, butted trucks off the road and smashed scout cars. Then the

battalion artillery began firing into its own supply train and in seconds

it was all over.

Craig screamed in frustration and scanned the board. There was a section

of warbots in the next hex over, 130-ton monsters with limited flight

capability. They were also on the gold side, but that didn't matter.

Taking direct command of the unit, Craig sent them hurtling toward the

armored battalion even as it reorganized for the march.

The battalion was massacred before it could even deploy again. Salvo after

salvo of missiles tore through the armored column. Multi-gigawatt battle

lasers raked it from end to end, blowing up tanks and simply melting

smaller vehicles. Finally the warbots themselves closed, smashing tanks

beneath their enormous feet and picking up vehicles and flinging them for

hundreds of yards.

"Yes!" Craig yelled and hunched over the screen. As fast as he could move

the mouse he ordered a general engagement. Everything was to attack

everything else.

What had been a relatively well-planned large-scale exercise turned into a

mechanical armageddon. From one end to the other the central plain of the

exercise area blazed with explosions, laser blasts and burning vehicles

and robots. Artillery batteries fired on the units they were supposed to

be supporting or turned their guns on each other. Recklessly tanks crashed

together. Warbots tore other warbots limb from mechanical limb.

Where the battle wasn't fierce enough or the destruction great enough,

Craig took direct command of his units, overriding their carefully

programmed tactics in an urge to slaughter. Blind and unheeding, robots

charged forward in obedience to their master's command. They didn't even

break stride when they reached laser range. Instead they slammed into each

other, flailing with their arms and butting their heads against each

others' armored carapaces.

Finally it was over. On all the plain there were no more units capable of

movement. Every damaged unit had fired off every available round, even if

it meant beating the bare earth senselessly with machine guns. The few

units that had ammunition they could not fire set it off in the magazines

in an orgy of self-destruction.

Looking down on the destruction he had caused, Craig felt more relaxed.

His fury at Mikey had died to a dull resentment. The guy was an asshole,

but hey, it didn't matter much. They'd go into battle soon enough and when

they did, Craig would show him what this stuff was worth.

As he rose from his command chair Craig remembered about the scouts. He

still needed to scout the rest of the island. Well, he'd start making more

tomorrow.

Thirty-five: COSMIC SQUARE DANCE

The blue thing on the screen wove and interwove. It divided, branched and

rejoined in a complex, twisting pattern that hinted at an order beyond

human imagining.

"How goes the work, Sparrow?"

Wiz jerked his attention away from the screen and saw Duke Aelric standing

behind him.

"About like you see. We're making progress, but it's slow going." He

reached for the keyboard and called up a second program with a couple of

quick commands. Now a yellow thing joined the blue one on the screen. It

wove in a complex and elaborate pattern that almost matched the blue one.

Wiz moved the mouse and the two shapes melded together into a single form

that was mostly green. Here and there, however, patches of yellow and blue

still stood out vividly.

"The blue is what we're producing. The yellow is the pattern you gave us,"

Wiz explained.

The elf duke nodded. "Very good, Sparrow. You make excellent progress."

They watched the shapes for a while without comment.

"Lord, you said there was something stronger behind Craig and Mikey," Wiz

said. "What?"

Aelric took his eyes from the screen. "Does it matter, Sparrow? More to

the point, do you think you would understand the explanation?"

"Yes," Wiz said levelly. "I think it does matter. As for the explanation,

try me."

"Very well." Duke Aelric stared into the screen and stroked the line of

his jaw with a long pale forefinger.

"Perhaps it would be easiest to say that the World as it is today exists

because of choices, a multitude of choices made since the first instant of

primal chaos. But each of those choices meant that other things were not

chosen. In that dance of choose and choose again, some became strong and

flourishing while others were made weak or even nonexistent. The patterns

of the dance are not to the liking of all and there are those who would

alter them."

"So they've set themselves up against the caller in this cosmic square

dance?"

"Cosmic . . . ? Ah, I see. No Sparrow, there is no caller to this dance.

It is blind chance working itself out through the interaction of chaos and

such forces as came out of chaos. But yes, there are-those-that would have

things work another way and they seek to alter the pattern, given a lever

to work through."

"And Mikey and Craig are the lever?"

"So it would seem."

"And we don't know what it is these others want?"

"I would not wager that they could be said to 'want' anything at all, any

more than a river 'wants' to run downhill. However I doubt very much that

the World could survive in a pattern that would be more to their liking."

They were both silent for a minute.

"Aelric," Wiz said at last. "My Lord?"

"Hmm?"

"If Jerry and Danny and I can match their programmers are you strong

enough to fight the ones who are behind them?"

The elf duke looked down at him with eyes gray and cold as a winter's sea.

"No Sparrow, I am not. Not I and all my kind could stand unaided against

them."

"Oh," said Wiz in a very small voice.

"Nor is it needful that we do so," Aelric continued. "The World as it is

exists because it is stronger and more stable this way than in any other

form it could easily reach. To say that a thing came about by chance is

not to say that it can be altered effortlessly once it has happened."

"You can't unscramble an egg," Wiz agreed and then frowned. "Only here you

can unscramble an egg."

"That does not mean it is equally easy."

"So there's something like an energy gradient these others will have to

cross before they can settle the universe into another stable state."

The elf duke paused as if tasting Wiz's words. "That would not be an

incorrect way to put it. Perhaps it would be more nearly right to say they

seek to create the conditions necessary to tunnel through the gradient to

another state."

"Where did you learn about solid-state physics?"

Duke Aelric smiled. "Where did you learn about magic, Sparrow? We teach

each other, I think."

Wiz thought that Aelric knew a lot more about physics than he had ever

taught Wiz about magic, but he didn't pursue the point.

"You know this sounds an awful lot like cosmology."

"What is cosmology?"

"One of our sciences. The branch of physics that deals with things like

the beginning and end of the universe."

The elf duke smiled. "Then this is cosmology."

Wiz turned that over in his mind and then returned to the main point.

"What you're saying then is that we can take them."

"What I am saying, Sparrow, is that there is a chance that we can take

them. But first and above all else, you must wrest this new lever from

their hands."

"That doesn't sound very hopeful."

"It is not hopeless, Sparrow. Leave it at that."

He nodded with mock gravity. "Now, are there any other matters on which I

may set your mind at rest?"

Wiz took a deep breath. "Yes. What does Lisella want?"

Again that marrow-freezing stare. "What the Demoselle Lisella wants is

none of your concern, Sparrow. She has not bothered you again, has she?

No? Then dismiss her from your mind."

"But you've met her here."

"How do you know?"

"Someone saw you."

"Sparrow, you would do well to concentrate on matters of import, not my

intrigues by moonlight. What is between the Demoselle and myself is none

of yours. Now, is there aught else?"

"Just one other thing. Are those dwarves who are trying to kill me part of

the Others' plan?"

Aelric's laugh was like the peal of a silver bell. "Believe me, Sparrow,

they are not." He sobered. "No, that is a matter between you and others of

this world, mortal or non-mortal, I think. But be wary of them, Sparrow.

They can be dangerous."

Thirty-six: A VISIT WITH MIKEY

Craig couldn't really name the impulse that drove him to visit Mikey. He

hadn't seen him since Mikey had called his weapons "toys." He didn't

really have anything he needed to talk to him about. But he still decided

to go. Maybe he could explain to Mikey about his new robots. Maybe Mikey

would apologize for the things he'd said. Maybe whatever, he hadn't talked

to anyone but robots for weeks.

Craig hadn't been in Mikey's part of the castle for a while and Mikey had

made some changes since then. Where Craig's work area was modelled on a

laboratory, airy and brightly lighted, Mikey's wing was gloomy as a smoggy

twilight. The further he penetrated the dimmer and redder the light became

until he felt he was pushing his way through blood-soaked gloom.

He turned the corner and started climbing stairs. The walls fell away as

he climbed until the staircase seemed to stretch up into a bleak,

blood-lit, starless sky. Come on, he told himself, this is just an

illusion. You know you're still inside the castle. But somehow that only

made the illusion stronger. The wind whistled around him, tugging at his

jacket and whipping his jeans against his legs. There were hints of shapes

in the sky above him, huge dark-on-dark things that shifted and twisted in

ways his eye couldn't quite follow.

Craig shivered and stayed close to the center of the railless staircase.

He thrust his hands deeper into the pockets of his windbreaker and kept

his eyes on the stairs under his feet.

Suddenly he was there. There was no door, no anteroom. Just a pool of

light at the top of the stairs and Mikey hunched over a desk in the middle

of it.

As he reached the top Mikey regarded him in a not-quite-hostile manner.

"What brings you here?"

Craig shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I hadn't seen you in a while and I

just felt like coming to see you, you know?"

Mikey grunted and turned back to his work. Craig stood uneasily as the

silence stretched out and the wind whipped and whistled around them.

"This is kinda spooky," he said at last.

"I like it," Mikey said without looking up.

The silence dragged out as Craig stared at Mikey's back.

"You look like you've been learning a lot." Craig tried to flog his

enthusiasm. "It must have taken some real magic to put this place

together."

"Yeah," Mikey said. "I've been learning. That and a whole lot more."

"Oh?" Craig asked brightly. "Like what?"

"Like philosophy, man. I've really clarified my thinking." He smiled and

for an instant the old, charming Mikey flashed through. "You know who

really owns something? The person who can trash it. Just fucking ruin it

completely. That's how you know the real owner."

"But what about the guy who can use it? You know, build something with

it?"

"So what? If he can't protect it, he doesn't really own it. It's like a

computer. The name on the paper may say it belongs to IBM or Pac Bell, but

that doesn't mean shit. The people who really owned those computers were

people like me who could get at them any time we wanted to."

Craig laughed nervously. "Man, you're getting heavy."

Mikey smiled. "Heavy times. Our friends now, they understand that. You

know what those guys are really? They're the greatest goddamn hackers of

all!" The smile grew wider, dreamier. "Man, this is gonna be great."

"Yeah, but there are people out there, you know?"

"So? If they can't protect it, they don't own it. Simple as that."

"Yeah," said Craig desperately, "but you don't have to destroy something

to prove you own it, right? I mean it's enough to know that you can do it,

isn't it?"

"Yeah," Mikey said with the same dreamy smile. "Sometimes that's enough."

"So all this is really theoretical, isn't it?" Craig pressed. "I mean it's

not like you're actually gonna destroy anything, are you?"

Mikey came out of his trance and regarded him closely. "Sure it's all

theoretical." He turned away from Craig and back to the crystal thing on

his desk. "Just theoretical."

Craig hesitated, torn between a desire to press his companion for more

assurances and the fear he might not get them. Finally he turned away,

mumbled something about needing to get back to work, and started down the

dark and twisting stairs.

Mikey didn't even grunt goodbye.

Thirty-seven: CHUCK JONES'S CAT

"Not only is the universe stranger than you imagine, it is stranger than

you can imagine."

-J.B.S. Haldane

"And so are all the other universes."

-Wiz Zumwalt

Jerry and Danny listened intently when Wiz related what Duke Aelric had

told him.

"That's weird," Danny said when Wiz had finished. "I wonder how much of it

is true."

Jerry leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the console. "What I

want to know is what stirred these things up. If they've been around

forever why did they pick now to start causing trouble?"

"Duke Aelric talked about that some when he first joined us," Wiz said.

"He thinks it's because of us. Our brand of magic apparently triggered

something." He glanced past Jerry's feet to the console screen where the

convoluted blue shape slowly rotated.

"I think the whole thing's crazy," Danny said. "Is he still around?"

"Aelric? I don't think so. I think he left again right after I talked to

him."

"Pity," Jerry said. "I would have liked to ask him some questions about

this."

"Bet you wouldn't get any straight answers."

Before Wiz could reply the door opened and Moira came into the computer

room carrying a wicker basket with a cloth over it.

"Forgive me, my Lords, but I thought you might enjoy some refreshment,"

she said as she put the basket down on the console.

Wiz started to object to covering up the stacks of papers, but then Moira

folded back the cloth and he goggled instead.

"Doughnuts! Where did you learn to make doughnuts?"

"Jerry took me to a doughnut shop while I was in your world. I liked them,

but it took me some little time to master the recipe."

Wiz grabbed a chocolate-frosted chocolate a fraction ahead of Jerry's and

Danny's reaching hands. He took half of it in one bite and closed his eyes

in bliss.

"You sure got it right. This is wonderful."

"You said it," Danny enthused, spewing crumbs from his second choice over

Moira's skirt.

The hedge witch dimpled and bobbed a curtsey. "Thank you, my Lords. Now,

if you will excuse me, I must see to the unpacking of our latest load of

supplies."

"Won't you have some with us?" Wiz asked his wife.

"Thank you, no. I, ah, sampled several while I was making them. I fear I

am more than somewhat full." She turned toward the door. "Do not eat too

many and ruin your appetites. June is preparing something special for

dinner." Behind her Wiz nodded and reached for his third doughnut.

For several minutes the only sound in the computer room was working jaws.

Eventually a combination of sated appetites and an increasingly limited

selection made the three more talkative.

"If she can whip up doughnuts why can't she make coffee to go with them?"

Danny asked.

"She didn't like coffee when she tried it," Jerry told him. "She liked

doughnuts."

"Okay, but why so many maple ones? Everyone hates maple."

"I think they were her favorites."

"Anyway," Wiz put in, "isn't there something about looking gift horses in

the mouth?"

"Yeah. Sorry," Danny said perfunctorily.

"You know," Jerry said after a moment, "what Aelric said almost makes

sense in a quantum mechanical sort of way."

Wiz looked around. "I'm not sure anything makes sense here," he said.

"They've been saying that about quantum mechanics for years," Jerry said.

"Anyway, this might, if you looked at it right."

Wiz picked through the basket and selected a jelly doughnut as the best of

the remaining batch. Then he turned back to his friends. "I'll bite. What

does quantum mechanics have to do with these bad guys?"

"Okay, you know that in quantum mechanics you deal with the position of a

particle in terms of probabilities? There's a probability wave and the

particle is most likely to be found at the wave's greatest magnitude and

less likely to be found at lower magnitudes. But the point is, you don't

know exactly where it is."

Danny rummaged through the box. "So? Are there any more chocolate ones?"

"I think you ate them all, but as I was saying, we already know that

something like quantum effects occur here on a macroscopic scale. Remember

when we tried to play cards? The shuffled deck was in something like a

quantum indeterminate state. We had to create a demon to collapse the

state vector by looking at the cards before we could play. Otherwise the

deck would respond to everyone's mental desires and you'd end up with

everyone holding four aces or the like."

Jerry took another swig of tea from his mug. "It's as if the line between

reality and unreality is drawn at a higher level here. Some things don't

become real here until someone becomes aware of them."

Wiz took a bite of his doughnut and chewed thoughtfully, dribbling

powdered sugar down his chin.

"How does that tie in with these-things-that want to destroy the World?"

"Well, there's an alternate interpretation of quantum mechanics from a guy

named Everett which says that what we're really seeing is multiple worlds,

all equally real. What collapsing the state vector really means is that

we've chosen among them. One of them becomes 'real' because we've taken

that branch of the skein of parallel universes and that makes the others

unreal."

Wiz put his doughnut down on the console behind him and rubbed his chin

thoughtfully, leaving white streaks on his cheek.

"That would explain a lot about this place. For instance, why there are

some operations that seem to be basic that we can't use in our magic

language because they're unstable."

"Yes," Jerry said slowly. "We've been beating our brains out because we

thought they have to be composed of several simpler operations. Maybe

there's some kind of uncertainty principle at work and those are

primitives, they're just one thing one day and another thing the next."

"Well, the appearance of demons is sure influenced by the operator's

mental state, unless you specify what they look like in the spell." Wiz

wiped at the sugar on his cheek thoughtfully, smearing it out more evenly.

"And so these things that Duke Aelric's worried about come from one of

these parallel universes?"

"I suppose you could say that they represent a universe with a

low-probability wave function that overlaps ours," Jerry said. Then he

brightened. "Hey! If I work out the mathematics on this, will that make me

the Neils Bohr of this universe?"

"You know . . ." Wiz began and reached behind him for the doughnut. When

he couldn't find it he turned to look.

A mouse-sized gremlin was halfway down the desk with the doughnut clasped

in front of him. The prize was nearly as big as it was and the gremlin was

bent backwards under the load as it staggered away.

"Hey!" Wiz yelled.

The gremlin looked over its shoulder at Wiz, grinned, and broke into a

wobbly run. Right to the edge of the desk and several steps beyond into

empty air.

Suddenly the grin faded. The little creature looked down and saw it was

standing on nothing. Its face fell and its bat ears drooped to its

shoulders.

"Uh oh," it squeaked. Then gremlin and doughnut plummeted to the floor.

As the gremlin scuttled away, Wiz walked over, picked up the doughnut,

brushed it off and took a second bite.

"I don't know if that makes you Neils Bohr," he began again, "but if

you're right I think Chuck Jones is the Erwin Schr"dinger of this

universe."

"Who's Chuck Jones?" asked Jerry.

"Who's Erwin Schr"dinger?" asked Danny.

Halfway to the hills Mick and Karin met a ruined army.

They smelled it before they saw it. The stink of burning rubber and

insulation, of overheated metal and cordite. Of dust churned up in the

heat of battle.

But there was no sound of combat. No artillery, no engines. Not even the

shouts of men. Cautiously, Karin and Mick eased to the top of a rise and

peered over it.

The panorama was so big and so torn up it was hard to tell what had

happened here. Gilligan thought of the pictures he had seen of the

destruction at Mitla Pass in the Sinai during the Six-Day War. But this

was worse than any of those pictures. It seemed that the destroyed

equipment spread over the plain for miles in front of them.

His first instinct was to go around, even if it meant walking for miles.

But there was no hint of movement anywhere on that enormous battlefield,

no contrails in the sky. Except for the occasional crackle of flame and

the whistle of the wind there was nothing.

"Well?" Karin asked.

"I say go across. It's risky, but we're low on water. Besides, we'll be

harder to spot out among all that junk than we would be out on the plain."

The dragon rider nodded and went back to get her mount.

It took hours to cross the battlefield.

They walked past a line of what looked like self-propelled guns-if

self-propelled guns had barrels made of glass that would droop and melt

under the effects of enemy weapons.

Here a half-dozen tanks in various stages of destruction confronted the

remains of a fifty-foot-tall robot they had pulled down like wolves on an

elk. Further on were the remains of a missile battery caught on the march

and burned while trying to deploy.

But there were no bodies. The wind brought the smell of burnt vehicles but

not a trace of the sweetish stink of burning flesh. Not even the carrion

birds seemed interested in this plain of dead machines.

"Mick," Karin asked at last, "why do they do this? Do our enemies fight

among themselves?"

"I think it's more likely they're just conducting live ammo practices."

"But they are killing their own creations!"

"These things weren't ever alive. They're machines, like my F-15, not

living beings like Stigi. I doubt a single living creature lost its life

here."

"Still, there is something . . . obscene about all this."

Gilligan shrugged. "For us, war is a material-intense business. You go

through a lot of equipment."

But looking over the carnage, Mick tended to agree with her. Even if these

things weren't alive, it had taken ingenuity to design them and time and

resources to build them. He had been taught that in a war you expended

your equipment wholesale in an effort to win. If you struck hard and fast

with overwhelming strength you minimized casualties, or so the reasoning

went.

Gilligan had always accepted it unthinkingly. Now, wandering among acres

of scorched and twisted ruins, he began to appreciate what that meant.

Besides, he thought, this wasn't a battle. This was an exercise, a test.

You don't need to wreck all this just to test it.

"Mick?" Karin said after they had trudged on in silence for several

minutes more. "The people who do this, why do they do it? Why like this?"

"I don't know," Mick told her sadly. "I don't understand their thinking at

all."

Thirty-eight: TRAP

Wiz Zumwalt sat on a rock under a spreading tree and savored the

experience. It was cool and pleasant here. The late afternoon sun did not

quite reach down through the leaves and the forest around him was alive

with birdsong and the skitterings of squirrels and other little animals.

Wiz wondered what season it was. It looked like late summer, but the

Bubble World didn't seem to have seasons. How can a world shaped like a

burrito have seasons? he wondered.

For once the pressure was off. The visualization program was running well,

Lannach was keeping the gremlins under control and everything else he

could think of to do was done. So he had slipped out of the Mousehole for

a couple of hours to do a little exploring.

It was the first time he had really been outside the Mousehole since he

arrived and he was enjoying it. No gremlins, no brownies, no elves and no

dwarves.

Glandurg could not believe his luck. After all the weeks of hunting and

the long weary days of waiting, there was the Sparrow, not two hundred

paces away, with his back turned!

And better yet, there was no sign of the protection spell Snorri had

reported. Nothing that would do violence to an attacker. There was magic

about him, of course, but after all he was a wizard.

Glandurg nearly hugged himself with glee.

He dropped to his belly and wormed his way forward through the fallen

leaves. He moved with exquisite care as he eased his silent way toward the

sitting figure. Fifty paces and still no move from his quarry. Twenty.

Ten.

Glandurg rose with a rush, took two steps and leaped toward the

defenseless Sparrow.

He didn't exactly bounce, but he certainly vibrated. Glandurg had leaped

directly into the center of an enormous spider web that sprang up in his

path. His sword fell to the leaves, but he remained thoroughly stuck in

the mass of sticky strands.

Wiz turned around at the noise and gaped. There was a dwarf hanging upside

down in a giant spider's web. The dwarf was struggling frantically and

cursing luridly. Wiz didn't speak dwarfish, but it sure sounded lurid.

Wiz waited until the dwarf ran down.

"Now," he said. "Just what is this all about?"

"A protection spell," Glandurg spat. "I might have known."

"You didn't think I'd come walking in the woods without one, did you? I

hoped I'd seen the last of you back at the Capital, but I wasn't taking

any chances."

Actually Wiz had devised the spell against any wild animals that might be

lurking in the forest. He didn't want to kill them, so he had settled for

something that would immobilize an attacker.

"You know, I'm sort of glad you did show up," Wiz said. "Now maybe you'll

tell me what this is all about."

Glandurg nodded and the gesture made his beard fall in his face. He shook

his head to clear his eyes.

"Meet it is that you should know the cause and agent of your doom," he

said in his best skaldic voice. Or at least the best voice he could manage

suspended upside down in midair.

"I hight Glandurg; son of Megli, praised above all smiths; son of Famlir,

who fell in the battle of Breccan's Doom; son of . . ."

"Yes, I'm sure you're from a very distinguished line," Wiz cut him off,

"but that doesn't explain why you're trying to kill me."

The dwarf glared. Mortals had no sense of family and no appreciation for

skaldic recitation.

"My uncle is Tosig Longbeard, King of the Dwarves. To fulfill a debt he

has commissioned me to seek your death. To this end I have sworn mighty

oaths that my quest shall end in your death or my own."

"Uh, I don't suppose we can talk about this?"

The dwarf looked uncomfortable. "I am sorry, Wizard. You are brave and

honorable and you are working for the good of all our World. But I have

sworn a quest and you must die to satisfy it."

Wiz bent and picked up Glandurg's fallen sword.

"I can't very well let you go, you know. I can't be looking over my

shoulder at every moment."

"Wait," Glandurg said quickly. "I cannot forgo my sacred mission but I can

postpone it. If you release me, I swear to take no action against you," he

made a motion as if to cross his heart, "until you have fulfilled your own

work."

Wiz considered. He didn't have much stomach for killing anyway.

"All right," he said finally. "Swear to that and I'll let you go."

Glandurg moved his hands again. "I do swear that I shall not try to slay

you until your battle with your enemies is over. I swear by the moon for

as long as it is in the sky."

"Fine," Wiz said. He turned and started to walk away.

"Wizard," Glandurg called, "what about me?"

"Oh, the web will dissolve in six or eight hours," Wiz told him. "I'm

sorry, but I can't get rid of it before that."

Besides, he thought as Glandurg's curses died behind him, I'm not sure how

far I trust you.

"Well, that's one less problem anyway," Wiz said as he walked into the

Mousehole's lounge. Aelric and the other programmers were nowhere to be

seen, but Bal-Simba and Moira were there.

Bal-Simba looked up at him quizzically.

"The dwarves," Wiz said, plopping down on a sofa. "I just got them off my

back."

"They are here?" Moira demanded.

Wiz nodded. "Their leader just tried to jump me. He ran right into my

protection spell and before I'd let him go I made him promise he wouldn't

try to kill me any more. At least," he amended, "not until this business

with Craig and Mikey is finished."

"You made a deal with a dwarf," Moira said slowly.

"Uh, yeah."

"Sparrow," Bal-Simba said slowly, "what precisely did the dwarf swear to?"

"He promised he wouldn't kill me until this business is over."

"Can you remember his exact words?"

"Yeah. He said, 'I will not slay you until your battle with your

adversaries is over.' Well, that's pretty close anyway."

Moira moaned.

"Is something wrong?"

Bal-Simba put a huge hand on Wiz's shoulder. "Sparrow, there are scant

dealings between mortals and dwarves, but this much we have learned. A

dwarf keeps only his exact, literal word. They are slippery as river eels

and will wiggle through any least little hole left in an agreement."

"There's a hole in this one?" Wiz asked in a sinking voice.

"Sparrow, how many dwarves are we dealing with?"

"About a doz . . . oh," Wiz said in a small voice. "And he promised only

for himself."

The black wizard nodded. "He only swore that he himself would not kill

you. He did not even promise he would not help the others."

"Oh," Wiz said again.

It was almost nightfall by the time Glandurg's followers found him. The

wait had done nothing to improve his temper.

"What happened to you?" Gimli asked in awe at the sight of his leader

hanging enmeshed in sticky ropes.

"Never mind that, get me down!"

"He tried the Sparrow alone, he did," Ragnar told Gimli. "I recognize the

signs."

"Now," the red-faced Glandurg ground out, "now I shall have him."

"Looks as if he had you," Ragnar observed. "Trussed you up like a spider

to a fly."

"Just cut me down," Glandurg growled.

The dwarves set about it, but it was a sticky, tedious business. While

they hacked and sawed Glandurg fumed and muttered.

"I will have his heart's blood."

"Can't very well do that," Thorfin said from the tree limb where he was

cutting away at one of the last strands of the web. "You said you swore an

oath you wouldn't harm him until after he's completed his own quest."

"I swore so long as the moon was in the sky," Glandurg amended.

Ragnar gaped. "He let you get away with that?"

"I am cleverer than any mortal wizard," Glandurg said smugly. "It was the

first oath I offered and he took it."

Thorfin looked up at the darkening sky where a sliver of waning moon hung

high. "And the moon has, what, eight, nine more days? Then it will be the

dark of the moon and it will be gone completely." While he was looking up

his knife severed the strand and Glandurg fell heavily to earth.

The dwarf rose and brushed off the last clinging bits of web. "Mark you, I

shall use the time well. I have sent to my uncle the king for a thing

which will finish this Sparrow once and for all."

And maybe this time he'll let me have it, Glandurg thought to himself.

Tosig Longbeard, king of the Mid-Northeastern Dwarves of the Southern

Forest Range, fidgeted uneasily on his alabaster throne and waited for his

visitor to get down to business. The smoky torches flared in their wall

sockets, throwing distorted shadows dancing over the carved and inlaid

walls of his audience chamber, but there were none but himself and his

visitor to see. His court, his seneschal and even his guards had been

withdrawn because Aelric, the most powerful elf west of the mountains, had

"begged the favor" of a private audience.

Dwarves and elves have scant dealings and Tosig had absolutely no idea why

one of the greatest elves should come to call. He noted his guest was

carefully treating him to every shred of courtesy and respect to which he

was entitled. Somehow that was not reassuring.

First there were the formalities to get through. Elves are notoriously

punctilious and dwarves are sticklers for forms and honors, so that had

taken time. Further, elves are as courteous and delicate as trolls are

rude and direct. After half a morning's pleasantries, Tosig almost

preferred the trolls.

At last, when Tosig was ready to scream, the elf turned to the subject at

hand.

"I understand your nephew has undertaken a quest to fulfill a promise you

made to the troll kings."

"He's not my nephew," Tosig snapped. Then he softened. "But, ah, yes, a

minor kinsman of mine is off doing some small service for the trolls."

Aelric said nothing for a space. Tosig watched him warily. This elf was

known to consort with mortals, including even this strange wizard the

trolls wanted dead. Were he to take a hand in the business . . .

"The honor of dwarves in keeping their promises is well-known," Aelric

said. "It would be tragic if such an important promise were not kept

because your relative was not given full support."

"I've supported that insufferable young pup to the limit of my purse and

beyond!" Tosig burst out. "Oh, if you only know what this thing has cost

me first and last. The supplies, the gold paid to griffins because he and

his friends were too good to walk like ordinary dwarves. And always more

demands. More supplies, more treasure. More gold to the griffins. More . .

." He stopped and beat his chest to relieve the burning pain. "I have

supported him," he finished.

"But perhaps not with everything asked for?" Aelric murmured. "There was

mention of a sword, I believe?"

"Blind Fury?" Tosig screamed. "Never! Never in a thousand lifetimes I tell

you!" He dissolved into a choking fit.

"A great treasure to be sure," Aelric agreed. "And yet after all you have

done it would be ironic if you were blamed for-lack of support."

"Greed," Tosig grated. "Say it outright! Dwarves are miserly and for my

miserliness I would not risk giving Glandurg the sword Blind Fury."

"I would never say such a thing."

"But others would and you wouldn't correct them. Bah! Even for an elf

you're mealy mouthed."

Aelric only nodded gracefully in a way that indicated he was much too

well-bred to argue with his host.

Tosig drummed his fingers on the throne arm. He could afford to turn his

back on his debt to the trolls if he had Glandurg for a sacrificial goat.

But to have an elf telling such a tale . . . Well, it would ruin his

tribe's trade for generations.

"The thing's cursed, you know," he said at last. "And the boy's

incompetent. He's had a score of chances at this alien wizard and muffed

them all. Sword won't do him a bit of good."

Aelric made a throw-away gesture with one elegant hand. "As you say, I am

sure. Yet the point is not whether your nephew . . ."

"Don't call him my nephew!" Tosig barked. "He isn't my nephew, rot him!"

"Your relative then. The point is not whether he accomplishes his mission,

only that you cannot possibly be blamed for his failure." The elf arched a

silvery eyebrow. "Besides, the wielder of Blind Fury is invincible in

battle. Who knows what even your-relative-might accomplish with it?"

Tosig glared at the elf and continued to beat a tattoo on the throne arm.

He was trapped and they both knew it.

"Why are you so interested in this anyway?" the dwarf king demanded. "I

thought you had dealings with the wizard."

"Oh, I do," Aelric told him. "However there is the matter of a prophecy.

It were best if it were fulfilled." A strange expression flashed across

the elf's face. "Fulfilled in all its particulars."

"Behold the sword Blind Fury!"

Glandurg brandished the weapon aloft and the other dwarves crowded around.

They had all heard stories of the great treasure of their tribe, but none

of them had ever seen it before. Never in the memory of a living dwarf had

the enchanted sword left the deepest, strongest treasury.

It was worth seeing. The golden hilt gleamed, throwing sparks and

highlights where the sun's rays caught a bit of carving or granulation at

just the right angle. The rubies and sapphires set in the hilt glowed with

inner fires and the fist-size emerald in the pommel flashed and flamed.

In fact, it was downright gaudy.

That was fine with the dwarves, whose taste for gaudy is perhaps exceeded

only by Las Vegas architects. But it was also deadly. The double-edged

blade glittered in the sunlight with a sinister brilliance that threatened

to outshine the hilt. The blade was as wide as a man's palm and nearly as

long as a dwarf was tall and the magic of it twisted the air around it

like heat waves in a mirage.

Glandurg could not conceal his glee. "One stroke! One stroke and the

Sparrow is finished! Nothing can stop Blind Fury and he who wields it

cannot be harmed in battle."

"Can we see?" Gimli asked eagerly.

"Yes," Ragnar said. "Show us."

The others took up the chorus. "Yes. Yes. Show us."

Glandurg smiled and nodded. Obviously the sword had gone a long way toward

restoring his tattered prestige with his followers. He didn't tell them he

had asked King Tosig for it before setting out and received a rebuff that

singed his beard.

He marched to the edge of the clearing where a log nearly two feet thick

lay against a head-high boulder.

"Observe the log," he said. He wound up and swung at the log with all his

strength.

Blind Fury whistled through the air and Thorfin jumped back as the tip

removed the bottom six inches of his beard. With an evil hiss the weapon

missed the log completely and bit deeply into a boulder, cleaving the rock

to the ground.

The dwarf looked around. Thorfin was fingering the end of his newly

trimmed beard and several of the other dwarves were looking at the newly

split boulder with a combination of wonder and skepticism.

"I meant to do that," Glandurg told the watching dwarves. "Now stand back

and give me room."

The others needed no urging. They backed off to give him a good twenty

feet of room in every direction.

Glandurg hefted the sword. In the back of his mind it came to him that

there were stories about how Blind Fury got its name.

"Now watch," he said. This time he did not specify a target.

Again he raised the sword over his head, braced his feet apart and swung a

mighty blow. He was aiming at the boulder but the blade's arc flashed past

the stone and on around and into the oak tree beside him. Glandurg was

dragged along helplessly but Blind Fury sliced through the three-foot

trunk as if it wasn't there.

Slowly, majestically, the tree rocked, teetered and began to fall-straight

toward the watching dwarves. Dwarves scattered in every direction as the

oak crashed down on them. The trunk itself missed Glandurg by scant inches

where he stood holding the enchanted sword.

Wiz looked up from where he was checking some wiring in the computer room.

"What was that crash?"

Jerry, who was closer to the window, looked out. "Just a tree falling up

on the hillside."

"Oh," Wiz said, turning back to the wiring. "Nothing important then."

A curse! Yes, that was it, Glandurg remembered. There was a curse on the

sword. Dwarfish faces began poking out among the still-shaking leaves of

the fallen tree. Somehow they didn't show the respect they had a few

minutes ago.

"Well, that's enough of that, isn't it?" Glandurg said. "Hand me the

scabbard, will you?"

Thirty-nine: PROTECTION

It was just after dawn and Wiz was finishing up an all-nighter on a

workstation when a shadow swept over the window. He jerked his head up in

time to see a dragon land almost at the front entrance of the Mousehole.

It looked like a league dragon, but Wiz grabbed his staff and headed for

the main door anyway. The dragon scouts were under strict orders to stay

away from the Mousehole lest the coming and going of the dragons should

attract attention.

By the time he reached the entrance Moira was already there. Of the other

programmers or wizards there was no sign, but one of the guardsmen was

holding the door for their unexpected guest. As he strode in, Wiz

recognized Dragon Leader, the commander of all the League's dragon

cavalry.

Dragon Leader was a bowlegged, solid little man with pale blond hair and

eyes like the fog off an arctic glacier. He was dusty and he and his

flying leathers reeked of the snake-and-sulfur odor of dragon.

"My Lord, my Lady." His head bobbed in something more than a nod and less

than a bow. "Forgive me for coming here, but we have a problem I thought

you should hear of immediately."

"I understand," Wiz said. "We're still trying to find what's causing the

trouble with the communications crystals."

"Thank you, my Lord. But now we have a new problem. In the past two days

we have started to encounter enemy scouting demons over the island-well

south of their usual routes."

Wiz gripped his staff tighter. "Do you think they know we're here?"

Dragon Leader considered. "So far as we know they have not tried to come

this far south. But they are searching the island. That means you are in

danger of discovery."

"Well, danger or not we can't leave."

Dragon Leader nodded. "Your decision, Lord. But understand we cannot

protect you this close to our enemies' base."

"Understood."

"You should be safe for another ten-day or so. Their scouts are thorough

but they do not move as quickly as dragons." He shrugged. "Perhaps they

will not come this far south. Or if they do your disguise may fool them."

"But you wouldn't put money on it."

"As I say, Lord, their scouts are thorough."

"Anything else you can tell us?"

"Nothing not in our regular reports. There is constant activity around the

castle, but no sign of any more great explosions."

"Okay," Wiz sighed. "Well, thanks for the warning. We'll do what we can."

"Will you stay for refreshment?" Moira asked. "Perhaps a bath?"

"Sorry, my Lady, but I have to rejoin my patrols." He sketched a bow,

turned on his heel and strode from the room. A minute later they watched

through the windows as man and dragon lifted off in a cloud of dust.

"What is that guy's name anyway?" Wiz asked as they watched their guest

dwindle into a dot in the sky. "Everyone just calls him Dragon Leader."

"Ardithjanelle, which means 'shy flower of the forest,' " Moira said. "The

story is that his parents were expecting a girl child."

Wiz watched the dot for a second. "I think I'll just call him Dragon

Leader."

* * *

It was less than half an hour after Dragon Leader departed that the

still-sleepy programmers, Moira and Duke Aelric met in the day room. Wiz

outlined the situation to them and then posed the question on everyone's

mind.

"Well, what do we do now?"

"How much longer do we need?" Moira asked.

"Maybe another two weeks, if Lannach can keep those damn gremlins at bay."

"There really isn't much we can do," Jerry said. "We have got to have this

place to keep using the supercomputer."

"We could move to another island," Moira suggested, in a tone that

indicated she didn't think much of the idea.

Wiz shook his head. "We'd have to stop work, get the system into a stable

state, back up everything, move it all and then try to get up and running

again. I know companies that have gone broke in the process and they could

get spares from the manufacturer if they broke something. Besides, I think

those patrols already cover the other islands." He grimaced. "Probably the

best we can do is continue here for as long as we can and be ready to cut

and run as soon as we're discovered."

"We may have more time than you think," Aelric put in from where he stood.

"Our enemies seek something toward the middle of the island. I do not

think they will come this far south."

"How do you know that?" Danny asked. Aelric shrugged elegantly.

"Anyway, we need to be ready to bug out if they do find us," Wiz said.

"We can put together some really righteous defenses," Danny said brightly.

"I've been working on some ideas."

Moira shook her head. "Not as many as you might think. Defenses attract

attention. Powerful ones are likely to shine like a beacon to anyone who

can sense magic."

"We discussed this once before, Danny," Wiz said. "The logic still holds.

Stealth is better than weapons."

"Shit," said Danny and scowled down at the table top.

"One thing we ought to do is to get as many people off the island as we

can," Jerry said. "If we can't defend this place we don't need guardsmen

and there is no reason to have as many support people as we have."

"We can all do our share of the cooking and laundry," Wiz agreed.

"Or do it by magic," Moira said to her husband. "Forgive me, Lord, but no

one but a goat could stomach your cooking."

"Hey, I lived on it for years."

Moira leaned over and kissed him lightly. "I rest my case."

"In any event," Jerry said, "it's getting too dangerous to keep anyone

here who isn't absolutely necessary."

He carefully avoided looking at Danny and so did everyone else in the

room.

The brownies hadn't attended the council, so as soon as the meeting broke

up, Wiz went to tell them. He found Lannach in the computer room, crouched

on his haunches at the rear of the console and apparently talking to

someone inside the computer.

"Lannach, we're going to have to pull your people out."

The little man stood up and dusted his knees. "Why, Lord? Are you

dissatisfied with our work?"

"No, nothing like that. But Mikey and Craig are getting close to finding

this place. We're sending everyone we can spare back."

Lannach frowned. "Forgive me, Lord, but you cannot spare us if you want

your computer to work."

"We can't protect you if they find us and attack."

"Lord, we will not leave. Not just for our own safety."

"I don't want that on my conscience."

"It is not upon your head, Lord. It is our decision."

"Thanks, Lannach." Wiz held out his hand. Gravely Lannach took his first

two fingers in both his tiny hands and pumped them up and down.

"Look, you've got to go."

It was late and the hall lights had long since dimmed, but Danny and June

were still at it.

Again June shook her head so hard her mouse-colored curls beat against her

forehead. "You come," she said with undiminished firmness.

"I told you, I can't. I've got to keep working."

June planted herself on the edge of the bed and crossed her arms. "You

will not be rid of me," she said fiercely.

He pulled her up off the bed and held her in his arms. "Honey, I don't

want to get rid of you, I want to save your life."

Ian stirred restlessly in his crib and started to whimper again. He wasn't

used to hearing his parents argue and he had been crying off and on all

evening.

June turned her back on her husband and scooped Ian out of the crib. For a

moment all her attention was concentrated on soothing him while Danny

tried to think of something more to say.

"Just this once," he promised. "Just this once you've got to leave me."

June shook her head wildly and clung to Ian.

"Dammit, you can't stay here," Danny said desperately. "If not for you

think about Ian."

June looked down at the child and her eyes filled with tears but she shook

her head again.

Wiz was trying to find a way to squeeze more speed out of the algorithm

when Danny came into the lab the next morning. His eyes were red, his skin

was pale and blotchy, as if he'd been crying. Even his hair was a worse

mess than usual. He looked like he hadn't slept at all last night.

"I had it out with June," he said dully.

Wiz put down the sheaf of papers. "Is she going back?"

Danny snorted. "Fuck no. That silly little bitch is determined to stay

here and get herself killed." He growled in frustration and slammed his

fist down on the desk. "Goddamn her and her stubbornness."

"I'm really sorry, man. I could ask Moira to talk to her."

"What for? She won't listen. She just rocks back and forth and shuts out

the world."

Wiz couldn't think of anything to say. When he had come to this World

Danny had been a self-centered twerp who did what he wanted and didn't

care about anyone. Now he had others to worry about and he was having to

make hard choices. Wiz could sympathize. He'd had a fair measure of

twerphood in his makeup when he first met Moira. But there wasn't anything

he could do to make the choice easier.

"She's sending Ian back with Shauna," Danny said finally. "That's

something anyway."

"But she won't go?"

Danny bit his lip. "It's real simple. Where I go she goes. And I've got to

be here."

"Hey look, you could handle some of this stuff from the Capital."

"Bullshit," Danny said without heat. "The only place I can do any good is

here."

"But the risk . . ."

"Moira's staying here, isn't she?" He looked up at Wiz with a ghost of a

smile. "Besides, I want a World for my kid to grow up in." He looked down.

"Shit. I left my notebook back in my room. I'll be back in a minute."

Danny brushed past Jerry as he went out.

"What was that all about?" Jerry asked after Danny disappeared down the

hall.

"I think," Wiz said wonderingly, "that was Danny growing up."

By the time Danny got back Wiz and Jerry were hip-deep in trying to find

something to make the algorithm work faster. By noon they considered and

rejected at least four approaches.

Outside the computer center the Mousehole was abuzz with activity as

nearly everyone else got ready to leave. Guardsmen, servants and wizards

went back and forth in the hall carrying boxes, bags and piles of

clothing. They finally took a break when Moira came in to discuss details

of the move.

"You know," Jerry said as he pushed back his chair, "I could think a lot

better if I didn't feel like I had a target painted on my back."

"Well, we're stuck with it," Danny said angrily. "We gotta stay and if

they find us we can't fight. All we can do is hope we can get outta here

in time."

"Wait a minute," Wiz said slowly. "Maybe there is something we can do."

"Like what?"

"Protection spells. Really heavy-duty protection spells. You know, like

force fields in the science fiction movies."

Danny's eyes lit up. "Hey, cool!"

"Do you think that would work?" Jerry asked.

"It might. At least it would be better than nothing."

"Such spells are powerful magic that stands out strongly," Moira said

dubiously.

"They stand out strongly in your World," Wiz said. "But magical senses

don't work as well here. Besides, Craig and Mikey don't use magical

detectors the way your people do."

"We hope," Moira corrected. "And in any event, where do you propose to get

the time to create such a spell?"

"Oh, I've got most of the groundwork done already," Wiz said. "I've been

working on it off and on ever since I was rescued from the City of Night.

Believe me, there is nothing like being nearly killed a dozen times over

to make you think about ways to protect yourself."

"Voila!" Wiz proclaimed and placed five rings on the table like a handful

of jacks.

"They look like something out of a Crackerjack box," Danny said dubiously.

"Well, as a matter of fact . . ." Wiz began. "Never mind. It isn't what

they look like, it is what they do."

"They are certainly charged with magic," Moira said, eyeing the pile of

trinkets. "Even in this place they have powerful auras."

"They've got more than that," Wiz said smugly. "This is a truly tasty

hack, if I do say so myself."

Danny reached out and poked one of the rings with his forefinger. "So what

do they do, shoot lightning bolts?"

"Nope, they generate a stasis field. Basically the spell is an amplified

variation of that spell we used to stretch out a night and get more

programming time while we were working on the magic compiler. Except

instead of stretching nights out two-to-one, this spell stretches time out

sagans to one."

"Sagans?" asked Jerry.

"Yeah, you know. Like 'SAY-guns and SAY-guns of light years.' "

"Oh, right," Jerry said, catching the imitation of the famous astronomer.

Moira frowned. "One moment. You say this spell slows down time

enormously?"

"Yep."

"Then how can you move when the spell is active?"

"You can't. It freezes you solid. But nothing can hurt you."

"Still, the spell can be broken, can it not?"

"It automatically shuts off when malevolent magic goes away. Kind of like

the protective spell I used against those dwarves."

"So at the first sign of trouble you slip on the ring and turn into a

statue?"

"Well, no. We wear the rings all the time. They activate automatically

when you're under direct attack and they stay active as long as you're in

danger. The rest of the time they're inert."

"These things are like bullet-proof vests?" asked Jerry.

"More like an airbag in a car. Nothing happens until you need it."

Wiz passed the rings around and each of them slipped one on. Then Danny

turned and held one out to June. But she hissed and shrank away as if

Danny had offered her a scorpion.

"June, please." But June's face was white and she refused to touch the

ring.

"It is not like the enchantment in the elf hill," Moira said, coming over

to her and laying a hand on her arm. "It will serve only to protect you."

Still June shook her head and turned away.

Danny held up his hand to display the ring he was wearing. "Look, if I

wear this and you don't, we'll be separated if something happens. But if

we both wear one we'll always be together. Please darling, wear it for

me."

Hesitantly June reached out a shaking hand and clutched the ring Danny

extended to her. With a sudden move she jammed the ring onto her finger

and then jerked her hands back into the folds of her skirt. Danny grabbed

her and hugged her to him.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot," Wiz said a shade too brightly. "There's

another way to turn the ring on and off."

He held up his hand and mimed twisting the stone. "If you want you can

activate the spell by turning the stone in the ring a quarter turn to the

right. You can deactivate the spell in the presence of danger by having

someone turn the stone a quarter turn to the left."

"What kind of a moron would want to turn off the spell when he's in

danger?" Danny asked.

Wiz stopped short. "You know, I never thought of that."

"Feeping creatureism," Jerry said.

"What kind of creature?" Moira asked.

"A feeping one," Danny explained. "That's one that has too feeping many .

. ."

"What it means is that I've added features just to add features," Wiz

interrupted. "It's a spoonerism on featurism."

"If you expect me to ask you about spoons, my Lord, you will be sorely

disappointed. Nevertheless I understand the idea."

"Yeah," Wiz said sadly, "and that took more work than all the rest of the

spell put together."

"So now we can continue to work even under the strongest magical attack?"

Moira asked, eager to get the conversation back to something that halfway

made sense.

"Not under actual attack, but right up to the minute it begins."

Moira looked down at the ring on her finger. "I hope it works."

"I hope we never find out," Jerry said fervently.

Forty: RAID

The drone had come so far south only by accident, cut off from its base by

a line of strong thunderstorms and blown well past the point where it

should have turned for home. Nevertheless it kept recording what its

sensors recorded and transmitting it back to the castle.

There wasn't much. This part of the island was mostly low hills covered

with open forest. It had been hours since the drone had seen anything even

as interesting as a herd of animals. Just the occasional bird, a motion in

the branches that might be an animal and the mixture of trees and grassy

clearings.

The sun was almost to the horizon and the shadows had lengthened and begun

to blend together into the beginnings of dusk. The drone was a already

headed north, back toward its home when its infrared sensor recorded a

patch of anomalous heat off to the right. True to its programming, it