The man sitting in the embarkation lounge was stocky and muscular. He was a military man, even if he now acted like an expectant father. He was waiting, and he hated it.

An Asian man came up to him. He kept his face impassive as he approached the larger man. He looked at him and asked, “You are nervous?”

The nervous man glanced up. He nodded to the Asian man.

“Why?”

The other man frowned. “I hate the cold,” he muttered. “I hate ice.”

“You do not have any choice. You need the work. Our colony will need at least one law-enforcement officer. I think this job will better you. Give it a chance.”

“Find someone else.”

“Your qualifications leave no doubts in my mind.”

“Maybe you didn’t read close enough. Maybe you missed the data on my service discharge.”

“I read it.” Akabe paused to smile. “Perhaps I read too closely. At any rate, who else wanted to hire you?”

“Forget it.”

“Colony ship Two-Four-One now boarding,” a voice announced. The two men stood and walked to the boarding tube.

***

“So, how do you like your new home?” Akabe asked the Marshal the day after their arrival.

“I’m cold. I’ve felt this way ever since we left.”

“The gauges all register normal temperatures.”

“I can feel the chill, the wind, the ice.”

“You need to get your mind off work and the weather.” And the one error in your military career, Akabe almost added. He tapped a keypad on his desk. A drawer slid open. He reached into the drawer, and removed a small packet.

“Here are some seeds, Marshal.” He gave the other man the packet. “Please try to make them grow.”

“No thanks. I don’t know anything about plants.” He started to toss the seeds back to Akabe.

“You will learn. Please.”

The Marshal hesitated. Akabe only repeated “please” when he would give an order he didn’t want to give. The Marshal turned the packet over in his hands, considering them.

“Oh, all right, Akabe.”

“Thank you. Oh, good luck.”

***

“And did they come to blows?”

“A few.”

Akabe noted the Marshal's comments, fingers lightly touching the keypads. The first altercation between colonists was bound to happen. It was now important to assure that there was no repeat. “You did mete out punishment?”

“I revoked entertainment privileges, and increased work-hours, immediately.”

“Very good. It seems that your experience in the service is paying off handsomely here.”

“Thanks,” the Marshal responded, somewhat awkwardly. "Is that all?”

“Yes. Uh, no, just a moment.” Akabe leaned forward. “Tell me, how are those flowers doing?”

The lawman's eyes rolled. “Did you know those damn plants are black? You gave me black flowers! Who the Hell would wanna look at black flowers, anyway?”

“They were not designed for looks,” Akabe said, as if he was talking to a student. “Dark colors attract more heat than light colors. That is very important in a cold climate.”

“I know...oh.”

Akabe smiled again. “Not everyone has a perfect memory. Carry on.” He turned back to his work.

***

Beta Cygni attracted minimal attention at first. It was far from the commonly traveled “space-ways,” had one marginally habitable planet, and four other unremarkable worlds. Then science perfected a black flower that could take root in frozen ground and thrive in extreme cold. Botanists felt that granting permission to grow black flowers conveyed their penultimate trust.

Akabe did his best to make his Marshal understand this. He'd hoped the Marshal would take the initiative. He had hoped in vain. Apparently, the Marshal long ago lost his initiative.

***

The Marshal stood in front of Akabe's desk. Akabe didn't stop working when he asked, “How are you and the flowers doing, Marshal?”

“I'm fine. The flowers are blooming nicely.”

Akabe finally stopped, waved at the seat in front of his desk, and then asked, “Would you like to try to grow a few outside the domes?”

“Outside!”

“That isn't such an unreasonable request, surely.”

“I will not go outside.”

“Wouldn't you like to get some of the planet's fresh air?”

“No! I don't need to go outside. I won't go outside. Anyway, there's nothing out there. No one goes out there!” He snorted. “‘Fresh air.’ Ha.”

“The power plant is out there. The landing and loading dock is out there. There are now research stations outside. You will have to go out sometime. What if there is an emergency?”

The former soldier hesitated, thinking over the options. He didn't think for very long, and his answer was simple. “I refuse.”

Akabe looked slightly annoyed. He pulled out a disk, booted it up, and handed the lawman a hard copy. The Marshal read the report. “This isn't funny, Akabe.”

“It is not supposed to be. The Colonization Bureau is quite adamant on this. They have already requested data.”

“You mean to tell me that the brains behind this little expedition think a few black flowers out there on the ice are gonna improve the climate?”

“That is correct. It does make sense.”

“Do they want the dummy who accepted them to be the one to freeze his ass off trying to get them to take root in that ice and snow?”

Akabe shook his head. “I don't wish to make this an order. You must do this. We can spare no one else. If things are quiet, you will have the time. Consider it a challenge, if that will motivate you. But do begin, and as soon as it’s practical.”

The Marshal fumed, but said nothing more. He turned away and left.

***

As he came up on the exit hatch, the Marshal was shaking. He forced himself to calm down. The man keyed in a sequence of numbers on a keypad. The inner door opened. He took in a breath, passed through the doorway, and waited for the outer door to open.

“Agh!” A gust of wind blow through the open door. The Marshal couldn’t feel it under his outfit, but it almost knocked him over. He resolved to be careful.

“No, don't think about that. Just go.”

He glanced around. Off toward the horizon in front of him was mountain chain, gray against the white landscape. Behind him, a white plain. To the left and right were small ice mountains. A light snow was coming down. He heard the faint crunching of his boots on the frozen snow and ice.

He stopped at fifty meters distance, then made a mental note of the location. First he took out the pick, then he put his back into it. It was hard work. His arms and back became sore all too quickly. He stopped to rest. I’m not cut out for this, he thought. I’ll have to quit.

He remembered Akabe. Akabe would not allow him to quit. “Now, or else.”

He had to get back to the digging.

Minutes later the Marshal was screaming.

“No! I don’t want to be here!” He threw the tool down. “I never wanted to be here! I hate this place! I hate ice, I hate snow, I hate cold, I hate all of it!” He slumped down to the frozen ground and began to weep.

“Why did she have to slip?”

He recalled the day like it just happened. His last post had been as a Training Officer. He was drilling the recruits in winter survival. There was a woman, Thomson, not terribly strong or committed. A sure-shot wash-out. He never left here alone. She was out on a recon test. She was from a tropical planet. “In unfamiliar weather,” Thomson had said. But she was under orders. Under his orders.

“You should have said no.”

The unfeeling, uncaring ice, didn't let her get a firm grip. The ice didn't care how smart she was. The ice took her.

On his orders.

It was the only mistake he'd ever made. In over three decades of loyal service, that was the only blemish. He had been exonerated. No one blamed him, except himself. Every lousy job since, every chance missed, every problem that had cropped up, it all came from two big mistakes: Thomson, and his reaction. That moment hit like a hammer.

He abruptly lurched back to the present. He gazed around, trying to find the shovel. Two seconds later he saw it. The tool was in two pieces. “Oh, damn,” he muttered. “Another twenty creds out of my account.” He swore silently. This will never work. I can’t hack it.

His eyes fell to the tools at his hip. Nothing there would penetrate the frozen ground. Out of the corner of one eye he saw his blaster.

Wait a minute! These Rugers have a ‘heat’ setting. Yeah, high heat! He drew the weapon and fumbled with the settings. He remembered how, aimed, and fired.

It worked.

The seeds went down in short order. Soon he had twenty-four seeds in the still-stiff ground. He shouted for joy! He made idle plans for more planting. The wind came up again, and this time he felt it. It didn't knock him down, or slow him, or give a chance to stop and think about the past.

The Marshal whistled as he walked back to the main dome.

***

Akabe rarely was surprised anymore. He had lived a long life, had been all over the galaxy, and had met many people. When the Marshal ran into his office, still in his cold suit, grinning broadly, the old man's eyes widened only imperceptibly, and quipped, “I take it you have been outside.”

“I did it!” the Marshal cried. “I got some of those black flowers to grow!”

“Very good, Marshal.” Akabe smiled warmly. “You have my deepest congratulations. And I see you are more accustomed to the cold.”

“Well, not all that much. But I think I can take it.”

“Excellent. Carry on.” As soon as the Marshal left, Akabe signed a contented sigh. “You are now a better man,” he said.

*****

First published in Outward, Winter 1993.

This short story is part of my collection Better Tomorrows. Check this page at my blog for store links: http://robertlcollins.blogspot.com/p/my-sff-books.html

Surgard’s father once told him, when he was still a boy, “If you gamble, make certain you’re a clever gambler, unless you want to lose.” His father always prized cleverness, even though the trait seemed to be in little favor in all the sagas the young man heard. But a boy should listen to his father, and Surgard was glad he had as faced Favig, God of Tricks, with only two dice in his hand.

The path to this dangerous wager began earlier that morning. Surgard’s village was the site of the seasonal Theng. Clansmen and heroes from all parts of the Northern Land were there to discus important matters, settles disputes between clans, and listen to the newest tales. As of that morning the Theng hadn’t yet started. Surgard’s duty, along with the other young men of the village, was to prevent new disputes from breaking out before the old ones were resolved.

Shortly after dawn Surgard was pacing between two such clans, the Volsud and the Ruygord. He watched the rivals like a hungry hawk surveying fat mice. He was not certain, however, that he could calm the winds of anger should trouble appear. He almost didn’t hear the old man approach. At the last moment he did. He turned left, gripped the hilt of his sword, and raised a palm. “Name yourself, old man,” he ordered.

The man smiled a toothless smile. “Easy, young fellow, I’m not a threat.”

“Let me judge that.”

“Don’t get testy now. I’m just a wandering old soul in search of a meal. Just get me a bowl and some bread, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Well, there’s plenty of food to be had. Keep going the way you’re going.” Surgard started to turn away.

“I don’t know anyone here.”

“Old man, I can’t leave my post.”

“Not for moment? Not to give an ancient body a bit of nourishment?”

Surgard sighed. He glanced around. The two clans were still in their camps, eating. No one even looked half-way interested in mixing things up. Still, trouble could break out in an instant.

He looked back at the old stranger. The man was thin, stooped, and his body shook. He did need food. He was a guest, albeit uninvited. Well, I suppose this won’t take long enough to be of concern.

“All right. Come with me.” He led the old man past a handful of houses to a wide tent. The youth slipped inside, then emerged a moment later with a bowl of stew and a fat piece of fresh bread. “Here you go. Eat wherever you like. No one’s going to bother you.” He turned to walk back to his post.

“Wait!” The man put the bowl on the ground. “No one has been so kind to me without asking any questions or making any demands.”

“Well, I am rather busy...”

The man waved a skinny hand. “No, you deserve a proper thanks.” He reached into his cloak, took out two tiny cubes, and handed them to Surgard. “These are magic dice. They’ll always come up opposite from how your foe desires.”

Surgard considered the dice. “Oh, I shouldn’t...”

“No, I insist.” He leaned close to Surgard. “Wagering is a young man’s game. I’m too old to be taking young men’s money and such.” He winked. “Go ahead, take them. Use them in good health.” He picked up the bowl, said, “Thank you,” then wandered away.

Surgard drifted back to his post, staring at the wooden dice. He was halfway there when he remembered that he hadn’t gotten the man’s name. He looked back to call to him, but saw nothing. He frowned. “Not a good sign, this.”

Sure enough, as he returned, he heard shouting. A man on a horse rode by at a fast pace. Surgard only caught a glimpse of the rider. More important things were on his mind. He got between the clans just in the nick of time.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded.

One of the Volsuds pointed at an opponent. “Those fools have too much sleep in their eyes!”

A Ruygord shook a fist. “It’s you that have the bad eyes!”

“Silence!” Surgard shouted. It suddenly became quiet as death. Surgard cleared his throat. 

“Could someone explain to me, calmly, what’s causing this anger?”

The leader of the Ruygords, Deknor, stepped forward. “A man rode between us wearing a fancy hat. One of my men met a Volsud, and asked if he saw the man’s red hat.”

“It was blue!” another Volsud shouted.

“Red!”

“Blue!”

Surgard raised his hands. “Wait!” He looked to the Volsuds. “You are certain that you saw a man ride past wearing a blue hat.” They were. He turned to the Ruygords. “And you are certain that the hat you saw was red?” They were. Surgard glanced into the village. He could see no rider wearing any hat. “Odd that the fellow’s long gone.”

He looked around the village, hoping to see the man. He didn’t see the rider, but he did notice another of his friends standing between two other clans, trying to quiet them. He pointed that out the Volsuds and the Ruygords, then said, “I smell a trickster at work.”

“An inspired guess,” a nasal voice dismissed. Everyone turned in the direction of the voice. They saw a tall, skinny, dark-haired man approach the village. He walked between the clans and up to Surgard. He towered over the youth as he said, “What makes you doubt that one clan is right and the other wrong?”

“A two-colored hat that causes loud arguments? Worn by a man who disappears into the air? And on the eve of a seasonal Theng?” Surgard shook his head. “Sounds like another trickster tale to me, and one featuring the Trickster God at that.”

“Brave words, boy. Will you back them up with a brave deed?”

Surgard pressed his lips together. Now what? he thought. I’m challenging Favig, and I don’t have anything on my side. He put his hands on his hips. He touched his money pouch, and felt the wooden cubes. The dice? He nodded to himself. Now I see how where this tale is going.

And so, his spirit lifted by his knowledge of tales and his father’s advice, Surgard calmly removed the dice from the pouch. “I don’t think this is worth fighting about, but I will challenge you, stranger.” He held them in front of everyone. “I say that you are Favig, and that you’re behind this dispute. Roll these dice and call your sign. If you fail to roll one sign, you must confess, and swear to cause no more trouble until the Theng ends.”

“And if I roll my sign?”

“You may make us forget all this, and create as much chaos as you wish.”

The dark-haired man grinned a wide grin. “Now that’s a wager I’m happy to accept.” He stretched out an open palm. Surgard placed the dice in his hand. The man closed his palm and began to shake the hand. “Since the moon is Favig’s sign, I think I’ll choose the sun for mine.” He knelt down, and cast the cubes onto the ground.

The crowd gasped.

Two moons faced their eyes.

A mighty cheer went up from the rivals in unison. Men slapped Surgard’s back. Others shouted his name. Both leaders summoned their bards.

The god’s shoulders slumped. He looked up at his young foe, his face a mask of anger and humiliation. “I don’t know how you did it, but you win.”

Surgard bent down and retrieved the dice. “So keep your promise, and go.”

Favig snorted, glared at the mob of mortals, then snapped his fingers. A cloud of red, foul-smelling smoke arose. A sudden breeze swept it away, and he was gone. The mob cheered once again. That night, and for the three nights of the Theng, they and many others sang of Surgard’s victory.

Once the Theng was over, however, Surgard had to help clean up the village. His part in the newest saga mattered little when there were tents to clean and food to be stored. By the end of the first night after the meeting, the glow of his triumph was as dim as the new moon in the sky.

With his chores mostly done, and the light from the sunset almost gone, Surgard wandered into the woods near the village. The wager, the songs, and the return to reality were too much to dismiss with sleep. He wanted to breathe some night air, think about what had happened, and try to make sense of it.

Once again, he almost didn’t hear the old man approach, but turned at the last moment. But this time he wasn’t facing a wizened dry twig. He faced a tall, stout man wearing a fine dark cloak and a broad-brimmed leather hat. He held a hefty walking stick in his right hand. His gray eyes blazed.

Surgard gulped. “Lord Durn?” he stammered in a small voice.

The man bowed. “The same, young Surgard.”

“What brings you here, Great Lord?”

“Well, for one thing, I’d like my dice back.”

The young man gasped. “It was...?” He shook his head. “I should have known that it was you. Who else would try to foil one of Favig’s tricks?” He reached into his coin pouch, dug out the dice, and handed them over.

“Thank you.” Durn glanced around the forest edge. He saw a rock outcropping, walked to it, and sat down. He motioned for Surgard to sit in front of him, on the ground. As the youth sat he said, “As I recall, your memories of the sagas you’ve heard helped you in your wager with Favig.”

Surgard shrugged. “Aren’t stories supposed to teach us how to deal with life’s troubles?”

“Yes. But if their only purpose was to teach, why tell the story? Why not just teach the lesson?”

Durn’s tone suggested that he wanted an answer, so Surgard took a few moments to ponder his reply. “I suppose that the lesson isn’t as exciting as the story. You remember a good story, long after you hear it. You might not remember a simple lesson.”

Durn nodded. “Now, tell me, what do you think the lesson of your little story is?”

Surgard took more time to answer. “Um, that you should always remember the stories you hear? That someday you might need the wisdom they contain?” He frowned. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What?”

“Well, think about this way. Your story is telling others to listen to other stories that tell them how they should behave. Somewhat complicated, don’t you think?”

Surgard nodded slowly. “Yours is a story,” Durn continued, “based on other stories, that themselves may be based upon still more stories. And what’s more, yours isn’t really a new story, just a variation on older ones.”

“I think I understand that.”

“I had a feeling that you would.”

A creeping darkness fell over Surgard’s mind. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, trying to keep panic out of his voice.

“Surgard, I want you to help me with this problem.” Durn took his left hand into his right. He pulled a ring off his left ring finger. He held it up for the young man to see. 

“You see this ring? This is Mymwir, the Ring of Learning.”

“I know,” Surgard interrupted. “You used it to acquire all your wisdom. You’ve placed a spell on it so that only those you want to use it can use it.”

Durn glared at the youth mildly. “Now do you see my problem? I’m Lord of Bards, and everyone knows all the stories, and all the stories about the stories. All the stories are combining, or repeating each other, or only make sense if you hear other stories. This whole system is going to break down if the bards don’t get some new stories to tell. Which is why I’m going to give Mymwir to you.”

“What?”

“Surgard, son of Holtnor the Sword-Smith, I call upon you to go out beyond the Northern Lands. I call upon you to learn about the peoples living beyond my domain, what Gods they worship, what their heroes and villains are, and what magical beasts they face. I grant you use of Mymwir, so that you will not forget what you learn, and so that I will learn what you learn. Stand up.”

Surgard popped up like a startled bird. Durn rose like the morning sun. He took Surgard’s right hand, and gently slipped the dark blue band onto his ring finger. He took the hand into his right, then raised his left hand to the sky.

“As I command, so shall it be done.”

Surgard wriggled his hand free of the God’s grip. “Wait! I’m not experienced enough to leave my home. What sorts of dangers am I going to face? What if those people hate strangers? How am I going to survive?”

Durn waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry, boy. I’m not sending you off to fight. I’m sending you off to listen. Have you ever met a bard who didn’t want someone to hear him tell stories?”

“No.”

“Well, there you are. Surgard, you have nothing to fear, and everything to learn.”

The youth cleared his throat. “I hate to say this, Great Lord, but I think I heard something like that in another story once, and it wasn’t true then.”

*****

First published in Eclipse, Volume 1, Number 15, Winter 1996.

This is the first story in my collection The Sagas of Surgard. For more information on the collection, go here: http://robertlcollins.blogspot.com/p/my-sff-books.html - scroll to the bottom of the page for store links.

Allan ran.

He’d been running for three days. He thought at the end of the first day the guards would give up. Early into the second day of his flight from Elderwood Ford, he passed by a village. He didn’t know the name of the village, but he did know that it was at the far western edge of the domain of the Lord of Elderwood. Beyond that the Lord, and the Lord’s guardsmen, had no authority. Or so Allan had hoped.

By the middle of the morning, Allan saw that his hope was dashed. Six guardsmen were still following him, five on foot, and their leader on horseback. They had left moving steadily west, trying to pick up his trail. Allen kept running.

He slept as best he could up in a tree that night. The next morning he decided to keep running. He wasn’t going to waste time with hope and observation. He would keep going.

He wished he could stop running. He wished he could turn himself into the guards. He wished he could return to the city, and make his case. Foolish wishes all, he told himself. The man who killed Elena because she refused him did nothing of the sort. If I hadn’t avenged her, no one else would have.

On the third day of his escape from Elderwood Ford, Allan stopped late in the afternoon. Unlike his stop on the second day, it wasn’t to look behind him. He’d picked up the rough outline of an old road earlier that day. The road dated back to the time of the mages, and the wars to end their terror. The road consisted of paving stones, and sections of dirt where stones had been removed. It was regular enough to follow, and smooth enough that he could make good time.

Allan stopped because the road had almost come to an end. Ahead of him was a castle, or more truthfully, the ruins of a castle. Allan had no idea what it looked like when it was in use, but it didn’t appear impressive to him. Certainly not as impressive as the castle of the Lord of Elderwood.

The first sight of the castle Allan got was of the stone walls that had protected it. In its prime, the walls were twice as tall as the tallest man. Some sections of the walls were still that high, but most were much shorter. The walls surrounded a rectangular stone building three floors high. Half of the end of the structure that Allan was approaching had fallen in. Only a small portion of the roof was still intact.

From the instant he saw the castle, Allan knew what it was. It has to have been the home of a mage. Everyone knows the mages lived out in the country. That was so they could protect themselves from soldiers sent by Lords or Princes.

Allan glanced around. The trees here are fairly tall. Maybe, back then, the land was cleared. Maybe the mages had spells that protected them.

He heard a voice on the wind. The guards are following the road, just like me!

He turned back to the castle. There might still be spells there. There could be traps.

It’s going to be night soon. I need a place to hide, and rest, and eat the last of my food. There’s not another place to hide anywhere around here, except up a tree again. If the guards are on the old road, then they’ll know to look around here. If I climb a tree tonight, they’re bound to find me this time.

They’re bound to search the castle, too.

Well, I know how to hide within a building. This is another building, yes? If I hide here, and they don’t find me, maybe they’ll give up.

The noise from the guards got louder. I have to take that chance. I don’t have any other places to hide.

Allan advanced on the castle. He found a section of wall that he didn’t have to struggle to clear. He scrambled from the wall to a window that had long since been broken out. He slipped through empty hole in the castle wall. He entered a wide room centered on a long stone table. There were no chairs around the table, and there was no decoration on the walls.

He saw a door leading out of the room as he heard the sound of a horse’s hooves clattering around the outer wall. He dashed to the door and pushed. It didn’t move. He glanced down and saw a doorknob. He turned it; it moved after a couple of tries.

The door opened into a hallway. I don’t think the bedrooms would be down here. I’ll see if there’s a way up. He walked down the hallway. He passed two pairs of doors on either side, then came to a narrow, circular stairway. He paused long enough to catch his breath, then walked up the stairs.

The stairway led to another corridor. The corridor seemed wide enough for two men to walk beside each other without touching themselves or the walls. In the dim light, he could see more doors on either side. Most, though, were open. He decided to follow the corridor to see where it led.

He peeked past the first open door he came to. He saw what appeared to be the remains of a bed and blankets. The posts stood, but the canopy was gone and the cloth was in tatters. He found similar scenes of decay in the other rooms he looked into.

Halfway down the corridor, on his right, was another stairway. It was narrower than the one he came up. He decided not to go further up, but to keep searching the rooms on this floor.

Past the second stairway was a row of doors to his left, but nothing to his right. He pushed open the first door he came to. Inside the room was a tub, a toilet, a basin, and the remains of a waist-high cabinet. A bathing room.

A memory rose up in Allan’s mind. It was cool autumn night, several months ago. He and Elena found the home of a wealthy merchant. It was vacant; the merchant and his family were away on some personal errand. He and his sister had never been in such a residence before. They were aware of some of how the wealthy lived, but never had firsthand experience. One of their discoveries was that not all the rooms inside the home had doors that locked. Indeed, only two did: the parents’ bedroom, and the bathing room.

Allan looked at the door of this bathing room. There was a lock he could turn. He turned it; it moved after two attempts.

The guards might be suspicious of a locked door. Or, they might assume that if they can’t get in, I couldn’t. He leaned through the doorway; he could barely hear footsteps from below. I can’t keep wandering around. I’ll have to try it.

He closed the door and turned the lock. He found a piece of the cabinet that he could pick up. He moved it so that it could block the door if the lock was forced. He edged down behind the tub. I suppose, this time, it’s good that I haven’t yet become a man. A man might not fit down here.

Allan waited. Time passed before he heard footsteps on the floor of the corridor. More time passed before someone took hold of the doorknob to open the door. The man on the other end of the door tried a few times. When the door didn’t open, he walked away. More time went by, followed by the sound of footsteps passing the bathing room door.

“The boy doesn’t seem to be here, Sergeant,” a man said. Allan was surprised he could hear the voice so clearly. They must be in front of that second stairway.

“Still one more floor to search,” a second man replied.

“Sergeant, this was a mage’s castle. I don’t like the idea of being in this place after dark.”

“The magic’s gone away,” a third man said.

“So’s part of this building,” the first man replied.

“You’re right,” said the second man. “If the boy’s here, he could sneak up on us at night. If he isn’t, we could still get hurt by something falling. Right, men, we’ll camp outside, and search the grounds tomorrow.”

“If we don’t find him?” the third man asked.

“We’ve been at this three days, and we’re in the wilderness. If we can’t find him, maybe some wild beast will. We got this far. We’ll head home tomorrow, after we look up some trees around here.”

Allan sighed to himself, but he didn’t relax until the footsteps went away. He closed his eyes for what he thought would be a few moments of rest. When he woke up, he used the empty toilet. He decided to see where the guards were camped, so he’d know to sleep on the opposite side of the castle. He walked down the corridor to a bedroom door. There was a vacant spot on the wall where a window had been. He approached the window slowly so as not to be heard.

He was stunned when he got to the window. It’s the middle of the morning! He looked outside the window. Halfway between the castle’s front gate and the road leading here were the remains of a campfire. He listened for voices for a time, and heard nothing. The guards are heading back. I’m safe!

Well, safe from them, at least. I need food and water if I’m going to survive.

He left the castle and explored the land around it. Years ago, he and his sister had learned that they could hide out in the wilderness outside the city during the summer, if the struggle on the streets became too risky. Finding that out meant that they had to learn how to survive in the wilderness. They found a reliable man who taught them how to hunt for game, and how to scavenge for fruits and vegetables.

All Allan had on him to hunt with was his knife. Without his sister, hunting wasn’t going to be easy. He decided to assemble a couple of traps for smaller wildlife, and hope for the best.

Finding vegetables turned out to be easy. There had been a garden along the back of the castle. Although it hadn’t been tended in ages, the vegetables and herbs raised there continued to grow. Some had spread beyond the original garden patch.

Allan found apples in the wilderness near the old road. The lines of apple trees told him that, when this castle had been occupied, there had been an orchard here. There were no other fruits to be found, and if there had ever been a field of grain, shrubs and weeds had displaced it.

A short distance from the ruined castle was a stream. The water seemed good enough to drink, so Allan filled his canteen. The moment it was full he realized that he’d have to find something larger, or he’d be walking to the stream several times a day. An instant later he wondered if the castle had its own water well.

He took time to eat and drink before exploring the castle to locate the well. He climbed through the open window to the dining room, then began searching the ground floor. He found a reception room, a kitchen with much of the cookware intact, a wide room with overturned tables, and another room with ruined planks of wood. In that room he came across a door that opened onto a dark stairway leading down.

That leads under the castle. That might be where the well is. Allan peered down the stairway. Even after a moment, it’s still dark. I’d better make a torch.

It took time to find a piece of wood that would make a usable torch. Finding it caused him to explore the second floor. He found another bathing room, and two rooms with scraps of cloth on the floor. He wrapped a few scraps around a strip salvaged from a bedpost. He located other bits of wood, and started a fire. He touched the wrapped end of the post to the flames. He tapped out the tiny fire, then headed back downstairs.

The stairway leading below the castle ended in a short corridor barely wide enough for a man to walk down. On either side of the corridor were closed doors. Ahead of him was an open entranceway. He sniffed the air and smelled water. He walked to the entranceway.

As he passed the door closed doors, Allan felt an odd sensation. It wasn’t fear, or hunger, or grief. It wasn’t anything he’d ever felt before. He dismissed the feeling; he needed to find the well.

He found it past the entranceway. It opened into a circular room. Metal bars were stuck into the stone floor framing a circle cut into the floor. The bars held up a water basket, and a pulley system to raise and lower the basket. Instead of rope, metal chains were used to raise and lower the basket.

He peered down the opening. His easily saw the reflection of his improvised torch; water was not that far down.

He examined the well apparatus. The basket was secured to the chair with a hook, which meant it could be removed and water carried anywhere. The basket itself was also metal. Noticing that caused him to examine the chains, the basket, and the bars holding everything up.

You’d think they’d have rusted by now, but they appear to be fine. Well, if they’re fine, then I should use them.

Allan lowered the basket into the well to fill it. It took him some effort to pull the basket up once it was full. He struggled with the basket for a moment before he unhooked it. Realizing how heavy it was going to be, he dumped about half the water in the basket back down the well. He picked up the lightened basket by the hook with his right hand, and the torch with his left.

As he walked down the narrow corridor, he felt the same sensation as he did when he first passed the pair of doors. There was no space to put anything down, and the torch was getting low. He decided to come back once he’d settled himself upstairs.

He took over one of the bedrooms on the second floor. He brought in the basins from the bathing rooms. He poured some of the water from the basket into one. He found a thick enough scrap of cloth so that he could give himself a quick wash.

He took the other basin to the garden and filled it with vegetables and herbs. He brought that back to the bedroom. He went to the kitchen and found a pot and a wide metal pan. Both had a bit of rust on them, but otherwise appeared solid. He took them to the bedroom, then found more scrap wood and cloth. He started another fire, this one on the pan. He filled the pot with water halfway. He cut up the vegetables and dumped them into the pot. He returned to the kitchen for a bowl and a spoon.

It’s going to take time for the soup to cook. Everything seems safe, so I guess I can figure out what happened down by the well.

Allan improvised a second torch and lit it with his cooking fire. He headed back down the narrow stairway. Once again, when he passed by the rooms he felt something.

He edged to his right. The sensation felt stronger. He reached for the door and put his hand on the knob.

Suddenly, the knob and his hand glowed with a blue light. It wasn’t painful; in fact, it felt good, like the way he felt after a full meal, or getting a compliment from his sister. He turned the knob; it moved without resistance.

The door opened onto a room a few times wider than the door. The room was dark as the door opened, but once Allan stepped through the doorway, a globe in the ceiling came alive with a bright yellow glow.

Facing him were three rows of shelves set into the wall. The other walls were empty. On the top shelf, at about shoulder level, was a short staff of wood and a sheathed sword. On the second shelf was a row of books. On the bottom shelf were rings and jewels.

I’m rich!

Allan reached for the nearest ring. As soon as his hand was over the shelf, it felt warm. He continued to reach for it, but his hand got warmer. He jerked his hand back, and the warmth was gone.

A magical trap.

He reached for the sword. Again his hand warmed as it got closer, and cooled once he pulled it back.

He decided to try for the books. He knew how to read. When their parents were alive, they had taught him and Elena to read. It hadn’t seemed to be a useful skill after they died. One day Elena was telling Allan what a sign meant. A man overheard them, and asked if they could read. Elena said they could. He hired her to carry a letter to another man. The man had a small shop on a side street, and the shop could only be found by reading the signs.

Elena carried out the job. She had no choice; there was the money, but the man who hired her kept Allan at his shop as a guarantee that she’d return. She did return, and with another letter. The man paid her for the errand. It was then that they understood that reading was useful. “Any skill that keeps us from stealing is a good one,” she’d told Allan.

Allan reached for the nearest book. This time, his hand felt cold. He moved his hand to the right; it felt colder. He reached to his left. His hand slowly warmed, until he came to a book on the far left end. He touched the spine of the book and felt nothing.

He pulled the book from the shelf; still nothing. There was nothing on the cover to say what the book was about. He opened the book to the first page.

“This is the testimony of Damien, one of the last of the great mages,” was what the writing on the page said. It was handwritten, in a flowing script Allan thought belonged to a nobleman. There was nothing else on the page, so he turned it.

At first glance, there was nothing on the page but twisted lines. Then other lines appeared, and the whole formed into letters and words. Allan was stunned for an instant, then he read what the words said.

“My name is Damien, and I have lived what I believe to be a good and proper life as a mage, a caster of spells. I am writing this book to preserve the knowledge I have gained. The power of magic, ‘magus,’ is fading fast now. My fellow mages are unwisely fighting over the centers of magus that remain. Various nobles and princes are using this as a chance to seize land and power. In time someone will cast their eye on me. I cannot resist every foe, so I shall use the time I have left to make this testimony, so that someday the truth about magic will be known.

“This testimony, along with a selected few items, should be able to survive the time to come. To you who finds this, I encourage you to read on. Learn the spells within the books. Understand the power of magic. Above all, absorb the history of this time. Know the mistakes that were made, the abuses committed, and the schemes that formed and collapsed.

“The Second Age of Magic is coming to an end. As there was a First, so there will likely be a Third. It is up to you, of that later age, to see what those of this Age did wrong. You must learn to use magic more wisely than we have. You must resist the temptation to use magic for personal gain. Too many in this Age failed to do so. Their folly has led to the time we are in.

“However, I am moving too far ahead in this story. Allow me to give you a brief sketch of the First Age and the Second Age. This will help you to understand these times, and what I have to say.”

Allan closed the book, then opened it again. This time the words were clear as a sunny day. Knowing that it would take him time to read the book, and remembering his soup, left the treasure room and returned to the bedroom. He read more while he ate his soup.

“If you can read this tome, it means you have the ability to use magus to cast spells. I doubt magus will ever entirely go away. Even now, as its power wanes, children are still brought into this world with the ability to invoke it.

“Your talent will not go to waste. I will secure my tomes of spells so that you will be able to use them. You must, however, read this volume first. I have cast spells upon the books, and the other items I am preserving, to prevent you from using them before you are ready. This first volume will not only help you to understand history, but also to understand magus itself. You will need to know what it before you can know how to invoke it.

“You must also heed the warnings I give in this testimony. A great deal of wisdom is required in the use of this power and the casting of spells. There is your protection to consider. I trust you are reading this in a time where magic is rare, if not entirely unknown. If you are seen to cast spells, you will be known as a mage. That will paint a target on your back for all to fire at, from princes to common thugs.

“You must also see to your character. My fellow mages are being laid low because they abused the skills they learned. It is quite tempting to cast spells to exert your dominance over others. It is tempting to cast spells to make your life easier, without regard to anyone else. These temptations create resentment and jealousy. They create an opening by which you can be attacked by men stirred by angry passion.

“You may not think such a message is worth heeding. Remember that you are probably alone in the world with this ability. One man, or one woman, cannot resist the whole world for very long.”

Allan set aside the book for a moment. Jealousy and resentment, he thought. That is how I feel right now. My sister was murdered because she wouldn’t submit to a man’s lust. That man wasn’t punished because of his wealth, and his connection to Lord Gillam’s family. That made me angry, so I killed him.

Where did those feelings get me? Chased from the city I was raised in. Made an outlaw. Living even more hand-to-mouth in a ruined castle. Maybe magic will help me live a little better. Beyond that, though?

He looked at the book, sitting open at his side. Maybe this man from the past can guide to something better. He sounds like a good soul. Maybe he’ll help me find a use for this new power I have.

Maybe he’ll be the teacher Elena always wanted us to find.

*****

Thanks for reading the first chapter of the first Defender story. To learn more about this book, and the series, go to this page at my blog:

http://robertlcollins.blogspot.com/p/the-defender-series.html

One

Hired!

Questor Corporation’s space station Q-12 strongly resembled a yes-man. It was small as corporate stations went, with only six dual-ship docking ports connected by the slenderest of transit tubes. In the middle of the six spindly spokes was a fragile cylinder of low-cost composites. Q-12 was built by overworked accountants, cheap contractors, and economized constructor-bots. It screamed of dealmaking and pliant praise.

The “Skuld” was the latest starship to dock at Q-12. It was wildly out of place next to the station. Although much smaller than the station, it was dark, sleek, and tough. If Q-12 was built by accountants, Skuld was built by military officers in the field.

The starship was owned by one Jake Bonner. He was not a military man, but a working spacer. He was too smart to be recruited, and too in love with space to stay grounded. He had lucked across Skuld on his travels. He had hoped that its power would bring him profit.

He had not yet been so lucky.

As his ship docked with Q-12, Bonner walked onto the ship’s bridge. It wasn’t an accurate term, but it was the best he could come up with. The “bridge” was divided in two. One part was a conversation pit with a large video screen, a couch opposite that, and comfortable chairs surrounding them. Up a half-dozen steps was wide desk with two seats, lighted panels, complex displays, and sophisticated read-outs. Bonner plopped down in one of the seats and waited for the controlling computer to update him.

“The station is acknowledging,” it reported a moment later. Its voice was clipped, precise, and a shade on the stuffy side.

“Patch us in, Odin.” It was an obvious name for the computer; the ship’s name was the Norse word for “future.” “This is Jake Bonner, owner and operator of the free starship Skuld, requesting permission to dock, Q-12.”

“Mr. Bonner, this is Station Q-12,” a polite female voice answered. “Your identity is confirmed. Please stand by to be escorted in.”

“Escorted? Why?”

“Our financial records show a debt of 8,467 cred-units owed, by you, to this station. You are hereby ordered not to leave this station until the debt is paid back in full. If your debts are not paid within seventy-two Earth-standard hours, your ship will be impounded.

“Thank you for visiting Q-12.” The voice was actually earnest about the concluding sentiment.

Jake held off screaming at the station voice. He screamed at the computer instead. “Odin, why didn’t you tell me I owed them 8,000 creds?”

“Because it is not my duty to watch over you. Or so you have repeatedly told me.”

“Well, don’t just idle, do something!”

“Your debt to the Questor chain has been logged into the main financial computer already. There is nothing legal that I can do.”

“So do something illegal!”

“I refuse to engage in illegal operations just to prevent you from paying your obligations.”

“Now, wait a minute here! Who owns who, anyway?”

“I suggest you cease this emotional display. Allow me to transfer the funds from your savings with Enterprise Banking, Insurance, and Salvage to the Questor Corporation.”

“Oh, all right. How much is in there, anyway?”

“Eight hundred cred-units.”

“All I have is a lousy eight hundred?”

“Not anymore. Your account is now drained.”

“I thought there was 12,000 in there.”

“There was. Seven days ago, your debts to Blake Stations, Incorporated, were paid off. By court order.”

“One of these days I’m going to violently reformat your hard drives.”

“I shall ignore that remark. I am making it known throughout the station that you are willing to take on employment on a cash-up-front basis.”

Bonner held back a groan. He knew from long experience the quality of employment offered by those with ready credits. If the job wasn’t illegal or immoral, it would be boring and simple. The choices would almost always be between bad and worse. And there he was, stuck making those choices again.

“This is going to be fun,” he said morosely.

“Either this, or put me up for sale.” Odin’s tone left no doubt about his preference. “One moment, Jake. I have located a request that is enigmatic, to say the least. Shall I initiate contact?”

“I suppose. Don’t bother with the main screen. I don’t want to get up.”

“Very well. Jake, please meet Daniel and Clarissa Rosen.”

An instant later an man and a woman appeared on the upper-deck console screen. They were dressed alike in drab work coveralls. The man had dark hair, the woman dirty brown. Both seemed to be in their late twenties.

The man spoke first. “Mr. Bonner? Pleased to meet you. We’re from the colony planet Antioch Two. Are you familiar with it?”

“No. Odin?”

“Antioch Two is a mining colony, owned by one Sordius Maxis. It’s population is Class Six, and therefore not a part of the Interstellar Governing Convention. It has been operational for 107 years, and has shown a profit for the last 73.”

“And do you know how that’s possible, Mr. Bonner?” Clarissa asked hotly. “Maxis keeps us poorly fed and clothed, and claims the air is our pay!”

Jake heaved a mighty sigh. He wanted to shout out, “Are there no new pleas in this galaxy? Am I the only human who knows our history?” He had traveled far and wide through human space, so he had heard of oppressed worlds. His parents had given him an appreciation of the history of the human race, so he knew about rebellions, their causes, and their outcomes. So when Clarissa Rosen said what she did, Jake had no doubt what they were going to ask him to do.

It was, however, more than a little frustrating to know where the Rosens were heading. It meant that their job offer carried with it a rather predictable set of actions he would have to take: organization; subversion; then direct action against the regime. If what Clarissa said was true, each of these would be easy tasks to accomplish. There would be no real challenge to the job, just another go-through of the motions that have been carried on since time immemorial.

No, he reminded himself, there would be one challenge: getting paid. Rebels as a rule didn’t have much on hand to compensate hired help. Getting into power might allow them to reward his work, but the odds were that the Rosens were from some podunk colony with an annual income only slightly higher that his present debt load. The compensation was fairly unlikely to equal the amount of work he’d have to put out to help them succeed.

He decided to let the couple down easy. But before doing that, Jake made certain that his hunch was correct. He said to them, “Let me guess. You want me to help you oust this Maxis, so you can replace him with a government that will respect the workers. Am I right?”

The couple’s eyes went wide. “How did you know?”

“I have been around the galaxy a few times. Look, a hired gun isn’t going to make a bit of difference.”

“Mr. Bonner,” Daniel said, “we are prepared to reward your assistance with five percent of our mines’ profits, each year, for life.”

“That’s very kind of you,...”

Odin spoke up in a firm, soft tone. “Jake, if you were to receive five percent, you would earn 75,000 cred-units per year. Minimum. Assuming no crashes in the mineral markets, of course.”

Jake needed a few seconds to comprehend the figure. “Seventy ...five... thousand...?” he stammered. “What do you people mine, diamonds?”

“Gold, actually.”

“Antioch Two has the second largest gold veins in human space,” Odin supplied calmly, “along with the fourth largest silver deposits, third richest copper deposits, and so on. Antioch Two appears to be an untapped source of vast wealth in precious minerals.”

It took a moment, but Jake snapped out of his shock. When he did he realized that the couple had been surprised that he knew what they were going to ask before they asked it. If they didn’t know, he reasoned, they probably don’t know how to go about waging a revolution. It will mean lots of work, but their offer will more than compensate for that.

I’ll be set for life, and I won’t have to take boring jobs like this one anymore.

Pressing his shirt with his hands, Jake sat up straight. “Well, then, I suppose we should...no, we must strive to ensure that colonists on independent worlds are not denied their basic rights. I would be happy to do my part.”

“We’re glad you feel that way, Mr. Bonner,” Clarissa said, seemingly oblivious to Jake’s mood change. “We’re prepared to advance you fifteen hundred creds.”

“Fifteen-hundred? That won’t get me to Antioch Two anytime soon. Can’t you up that a little?”

“We can barely afford that, Mr. Bonner.”

Jake grimaced. His opportunity for the easy life, his chance to stop wandering, his hopes for attracting a young and beautiful love slave, all threatened to sprout jump drives and zip away. He gritted his teeth. “I hate to say this, but...”

“I have uncovered a possible source of immediate income,” Odin announced. “You may accept this assignment, if you wish.”

“Thank you. I accept. Log your advance, and the other offer, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Skuld, out.”

Jake let out a maniacal laugh. “I’m gonna be rich! Filthy rich! Odin, if you were a woman, I would marry you.”

“I am pleased you have such a deep respect for my ability and talents.”

“Oh, don’t be so stuffy. Admit it, Odin. You wouldn’t have guided me to this offer if you didn’t like the idea of me becoming wealthy.”

“Well, I admit that a more reliable source of income would allow for certain advances to my software and hardware.”

“That’s the spirit! Now, what’s this other source of income?”

“The individual is on his way. One moment. The gentleman, Sidney Kraft, is in the airlock, and requests permission to board the ship.”

“Let him in.”

The man entered the bridge through the entranceway opposite the control area. Sidney Kraft might have been in his late thirties, but it was more likely that he was faking it. His hair was too neatly in place, his skin too tanned and smooth, and his shape too sculpted. His clothes reminded Jake of a pink Christmas tree.

“You Jake Bunter?” Sid asked. His voice was way too smooth.

“Bonner. Jake Bonner.”

“Oh, yeah, Bonner.” Sid approached, took Jake’s hand and shook it vigorously. “I’m Sid Kraft, of Kraft, Kropf, Kretz, and Bartholomew.”

“What do you do? Why are you hiring?”

Kraft appeared mildly surprised. “I’m an agent, Mr. Burner.”

“That’s Bonner. What kind of agent?”

“Aw, come on! You gotta know about us. We’re the top entertainment artist representation firm in the galaxy. We’ve got dozens of stars, from video, to music, to literary, to... Well, you name it, we represent it.”

“I see. I prefer more classic fare than the latest thing.”

“Oh, well, too bad, Mr. Banner. Say, can I call ya Jakie?”

“No.”

“Thanks, Jakie. You see, I have this problem.”

“Really?”

“Right now I’m working for Evangelyne Martini. You heard of her? She’s great! This kid can sing, act, dance. She’ll be the next great pop sensation.”

“Aren’t they all?”

“She’s about to go on her first live performance tour. We need someone who can get her from show to show.”

“Why doesn’t she just tour with the band?”

“Aw, c’mon, Jakie. Talent never slums with the hired help. Besides, the media will be all over the main tour ship. It’d be much easier to control access if she’s on another ship.” Sid glanced around the room. “The look is okay. Evvie could do her interviews from here.”

“Interviews?”

Sid raised his hands. “Strictly over the air stuff. You won’t have to worry about anyone boarding.”

“Okay. So all I have to do is get this ‘Evvie’ from one show to the next. For how long?”

“Well, we’re still booking shows, but no more than three standard months. Three and a half at the most.”

“And it will be just her? No family?”

“Her folks have split up again. It’d be bad to have either one, and if they both come they’ll be fighting. Evvie doesn’t need that, not on her first tour.”

“No friends? No entourage?”

“Her friends will meet her at some of the gigs, but they can’t drop their lives for three months. And we’ve got a directive from top brass to keep costs down on this first tour. Anything else?”

“No.”

“You available?”

Sid’s offer wasn’t quite what Jake was expecting. But the spacer knew money when he saw it, so he decided to see if there would be real pay or hot air. His face became a mask of worry. “I don’t know. I’ve got heavy debts to Questor. They aren’t letting me leave.”

“Hey, no problem!” Sid yanked out a small black box from a pocket. He pulled an ear plug from it, put it in his ear, and tapped a button on the box. “Hey, Nancy? Sid here. I got a fella who can help us with Evvie, but he’s got some high-grav debt. Name? What was that name again?”

“Jake. Bonner.”

“Jake Bonner, Nans. Huh. Hold on.” He turned to Jake. “We’ll bail you out, Jakie, but I need to get your okay on the legal stuff.”

“Fine.”

Sid disconnected the earpiece from his perscomp, tapped the screen a few times, then handed it to Jake. “Okay, that one is the independent contractor agreement spelling out the terms we’ve discussed. You’re familiar with those, right?”

“No problem. Odin?”

“Who’s Odin?”

“My ship’s computer. Odin?”

“Scanning the contract, Jake. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Wow,” Sid said, “that’s some computer. He available for license?”

“No,” Jake answered. He scrolled to the end of the digital contract and signed the screen on the “dotted line.” He started to hand the device back to Sid when Sid pointed to it.

“The next one is nondisclosure agreement covering the tour.”

“Fine.” Jake signed.

“Next is a nondisclosure about any songs Evvie composes, in part or in full, while she’s on board your ship.”

Jake signed.

“After that is the guarantee that you have insurance. Then you need to sign the insurance claim waivers for claims against us, from losses to acts beyond our control, and from losses you might incur while you work for us but aren’t related to said work.”

“Is that it?”

“No. Now you need to sign the agreement that you won’t try to harm Evvie physically or mentally. Then you have to agree not to sell any information you gather about Evvie while working for us for a period of at least five years. We also need you to agree not to allow unauthorized media access to Evvie. Oh, we’ll download the interview schedule. We also need you to agree not to allow any personal access to Evvie without getting our approval.”

“Fine. Anything else?”

“Yeah. That last one is your agreement not to work for any other celebrity not represented by my firm while you work for us. You’ll note that we reserve the right to request your services for celebrities that we do manage while under contract for us. Don’t worry, there’s no renewal option.”

Jake signed the final contract. He handed the device to Sid. “Odin,” he asked, “have I signed my life away?”

“Every contract was fair and ethical.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks, Jake.” Sid reattached the earpiece to the machine and tapped the screen twice. “Nancy? Okay, authorize payment on those debts. Done? Okay, kiddo, thanks. Be in touch.” He took out the plug and put the communicator back in his pocket. “There, Jakie, all taken care of.”

“Thanks. When do we start?”

“I’ll download all the relevant data to you, then bring Evvie over.” Sid grabbed Jake’s hand and shook it again. “It’ll be great working with ya, Jakie.”

As soon as the agent was gone Odin said, “Happy to have been of assistance, Jake. Oh, by the way, Antioch Two appears to be a late stop on Miss Martini’s tour.”

“Interesting coincidence. That is a coincidence, right, Odin?”

“I would never do anything that underhanded. As it happens, the leader of Antioch Two is a fan of Miss Martini.”

Jake shook his head. “I hate him already,” he said.

*****

Thank you for reading the first chapter of Expert Assistance. To read more, or to learn more about Jake Bonner's other adventures, go here:

http://robertlcollins.blogspot.com/p/the-jake-bonner-verse.html

CHAPTER 1

“There you are. Got your nose in another book.” Lisa Herbert wished she could ignore her sister and make her go away, but ignoring had stopped working a while back. Short answers and quips seemed more effective, therefore Lisa replied with a simple “Yeah, so?”

“Why are you in here?”

“I’m reading.”

“Why?”

“Why read?” Lisa looked up and smiled. “Leslie, if you don’t know why we read, there isn’t any hope for you.”

Leslie smiled stiffly. “Keep that up, and I won’t be helping you meet any boys.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Oh, yeah, like boys are just lining up to meet you.”

Lisa let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t think life has to be about meeting boys and getting married. I want something better than that!”

“Like what? Teaching? Tending this little library?”

“Leslie, did you come here to annoy me, or did you have something you needed to tell me?”

“I came here to tell you that Dan has promised me a fun afternoon.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Cathie and Zack are going with us. I could go find Pete, and you could join us. Forget about this old stuff. Have some fun.”

“I’ll think about it,” Lisa lied.

“Great.” Leslie turned, and jogged out of the library.

Lisa forgot about Leslie’s offer almost as fast as it had taken Leslie to leave the library. Something she said, however, stuck with her: Lisa’s own statement of wanting something better. She put away the book she struggled with, and searched for another that she’d noticed days ago. It struck her then as an odd title for a book. Now, that title sparked her curiosity.

“There.” Portals to Job Security: New (and Old) Career Opportunities. She removed the book from its place, returned to the desk, sat down, and began to read. She soon became absorbed with the slender volume. She discovered that the book contained ideas for jobs in an “inter-planetary economy tied through the H-portal.” Many of the ideas required travel between worlds. Others seemed temporary but related to each other. Lisa paused to consider the ideas presented. It took time for her to realize that the author suggested that a person wouldn’t spend a lifetime at one job, but could have several jobs throughout their life. The book didn’t suggest that certain jobs were restricted to men or women. Lisa knew she would need some time to ponder what she read.

Leslie returned before Lisa had even one moment to think. “You ready?”

“For what?”

“Dan’s going to show us the ruins.”

“Ruins?”

“Centropolis.”

“Leslie! If Father finds out...”

“You won’t say anything. You’re coming with us.”

“The Hell I will!” Lisa stood up. She walked with firm strides to where her sister stood, just inside the doorway. “You want to risk your life to spend some time with Dan, fine. I don’t care if you’re going out there to fool around with him, but don’t try to drag me along.”

“You have something better to do?”

Lisa smiled. “What do you care? You’re popular, and I’m the red-haired freak. You don’t need me.”

“What are you up to?”

“Go on, go on.” She grinned wickedly. “I thought you didn’t like to keep Dan waiting.”

“At least he’s waiting for me.” Leslie stuck out her tongue. She turned, then turned back to Lisa. “If you say one word to Father, your hair won’t be the only part of you that’s red.” She turned again and left the library.

Lisa returned to the book. She reread the passages about jobs. She wanted to be certain that the text made sense, that its claims sounded true. Satisfied that book’s opportunities were indeed absent of limits to women, she began to consider the implications of that insight.

I suppose that fits with what I know about the Savage Rain, she thought. After all, if there wasn’t a society to be knocked down, the gangs ranging through the portals wouldn’t have knocked it down in the first place. I guess I never really thought about it that way. Since that’s true, there had to be something better before the Rain. So, I guess that also means that things could get better again.

But, how? Maybe I ought to find out what it was like before the Rain. Maybe that will point me in the right direction.

Lisa went back to the shelves. She tried to remember the title of another book, one that she had wanted to read for some time. She remembered the book was kept on the higher shelves, something being said about it being too fragile for too many people to look at. It took long, slow minutes of searching, but she found the precious volume: The Mountain View Scrapbook.

She discovered that it wasn’t a conventional book. There were pieces of paper cut out from some other place and stuck onto over-sized pages, like the scrapbook name implied. Some of the pieces had a title, Fairfield Daily Gazette. Unlike other books, this one told the story of Mountain View.

Each cut-out contained a separate story about something that happened in the village. She read about the founding of the town, the first birth, the first death, harvests, elections, and more. There were a few short notices on visits from a family not living in Fairfield. Two of them struck Lisa: the first one said a visit was approaching; the second, that the visit had been cancelled because the family couldn’t get travel passes to go through one world.

Now, that’s odd, she thought. They couldn’t get from their world to Fairfield because some world in-between wouldn’t let them pass through? Why would anyone do that? If it happened during the Rain, I could see that. But...Wait. How did the Rain start? Yeah. A gang fled from one world to another, and once they got there, they couldn’t leave. The first world attacked the second, because of simple hatred.

If people on one world didn’t like people on the next, they wouldn’t let outsiders cross between them out of fear of being attacked. That being the case, it was only a matter of time before the Savage Rain happened.

Lisa glanced at the Scrapbook, and she flipped through some more pages. The more short pieces she read, the more she became convinced that her speculation was true. A third of the way through the book were the first reports of the Savage Rain, then it stopped. The rest of the pages were blank. Lisa picked up that book, along with the one on jobs, and put both back in their places on the shelves.

Well, now I know. There was a time when life was better, when there could be more to a woman’s life than getting married and having babies. Wishing for those times to return won’t help me. If things were good once, why can’t they be again? What could anyone do? 

What could I do to help make it happen?

I think now’s the time I should ask Father for that notebook he’s been promising me. I need to write some of this down. I’ll need to focus on the possibilities.

She walked out of the library, and as she turned towards her home, she saw Pete riding into the village on a lathered horse. She dashed to him. “What are you doing here? Where’s...?”

“They got ’em pinned in the ruins!” he huffed.

“Who does? What’s going on?”

Pete slipped off his mount. “Wild men, in the ruins. They attacked us, got us hemmed in so the rest couldn’t get away. Zack and Dan covered me, so I could get back to get help.”

“Are they all right?”

“When I left them, they were pinned down. Don’t know how long they can hold, or if they can get away.”

Lisa paused for a moment, thinking. It’ll take time for Father to gather the men and ride out. Leslie and the others might not have that much time. I may not be able to save them, but I could stall until Father arrives!

“Pete, catch your breath, then find my father. Tell him what you told me. Do you know where they are?”

He nodded. “They’re in a big white building, the one with ’hotel’ on the front.”

“Okay.” She turned towards the village stable.

“Where are you going?”

“To buy them some time.”

***

Thank you for reading the first chapter of Lisa's Way. To read more, and to learn more about the Lisa Herbert series, go here -

http://robertlcollins.blogspot.com/p/the-lisa-herbert-series.html