Dragon Sword (6 page)

In response, they set about
changing the essential design of their time-ships, using
plasmechanics. Plasmechanics form the basis of lingo-spot
technology, which so effectively translates languages between
members of different — I was about to say
cultures
, but
perhaps
species
is more accurate. Or even
planet-dwellers
.

From what I can gather,
plasmechanical devices are machines constructed on the level of the
tiniest particles imaginable: living tissue made to “build” more of
itself as it adapts to each new wearer, each new language, or in
the case of ships, each new situation. Apparently, the Saurians
have imbued plasmechanical material with an even greater
intelligence than before.

Which raises the question of
whether such devices can still properly be considered “machines” at
all.

The Saurians seem to be undertaking
a great experiment with self-perpetuating technology. I can only
imagine that Mother would be fascinated — and concerned. “The soul
of things,” she once told me, “is hard to quantify.”

The Saurians had observed that left
on its own, a plasmechanical device, such as a lingo- spot, would
grow and change slightly, like a cell, before eventually becoming
less effective. It would burn out and need to be
replaced.

Until I arrived.

According to Gennt, a senior
minister of engineering, one of the scrolls saved from the library,
having to do with mummification, has been of great use.

“
Odd things you mammals do with
flesh. But useful,” he told me. The Saurians were especially
fascinated by the use of oils and spices in conserving mummy skin.
They found their own planetary equivalents of both myrrh and
cinnamon, which were key ingredients in the mixture applied to the
bodies. This simple, ancient formula has allowed the Saurians to
preserve sheets of plasmechanical material. Thus they discovered
that the nervelike connections that run through the devices could
actually continue to grow, and the larger a sheet, or piece, of
plasmechanical material, the more easily the machine — if it is
still a machine — can begin repairing itself.

Not only repairing itself, but
learning, too. Subtly adapting for whatever task is at
hand.

So they set about designing a
time-vessel to include large plasmechanical components. I’m to use
the prototype in the search for K’lion.

The initial plan is to allow the
ship to serve as a kind of tracking device. They’ve given it a
“scent,” as it were — a bit of K’lion’s DNA — which should allow
the craft to hone in on him like a hunting dog, if the ship gets
anywhere within range.

Of course, no one has actually
tested the ship yet. Since K’lion has yet to return, the Saurians
worry that the Fifth Dimension has grown unsafe for
travelers.

But were there ever guarantees for
any journey through time?

“
I’d
t-ka!
take it into the
field myself,” Gennt told me, “but if mammals evolve so
p-p-kh
fast, and Saurians have vanished, maybe the field
isn’t what it used to be.”

By “field,” he meant the Fifth
Dimension, which allows a voyager basically an infinite number of
choices of where — or when — to go. Or sometimes, who to be. The
Fifth Dimension can’t change, but the travelers that go through it
— and the destinations it leads to — always do.

Of course, most travelers don’t
want infinite choices. They want an adventure, to be changed a
little perhaps, then they want to return.

Like me.

So I volunteered to take the
time-ship on her maiden voyage.

At first they refused, insisting it
would be too dangerous. But I told them the risk was my choice, and
besides, K’lion was last seen on my planet. Perhaps it is I, the
mammal, who should seek to undo what K’lion’s encounter with our
species has begun.

Of course, I am not completely sure
that such an undoing is possible, but I am willing to try for a
chance to return home. Or, given that my home in Alexandria was
burned to the ground and my mother murdered, someplace simply
familiar and safe.

It’s that or live my life now as an
explorer. Mother would appreciate that.

Either way, it made sense to
volunteer to try out the ship. I promised to send K’lion back home
in it if I could.

They have a tradition here of
sending off “chronauts,”— a word I’ve fashioned for their
time-explorers — at dawn.

I believe this ritual has something
to do with the time of day that the Saurians’ original king — the
great Temm, who is said to have invented Cacklaw — set off on the
journey in which he was to learn the rules of the game.

In any case, I am honored. Gandy,
Kolomus, Gennt, and so many others are here. And Gandy is even
giving me a
sklaan
, a thin, gossamer-like garment made of
special fibers designed to keep the wearer warm in almost any
climate.

Of course, originally designed for
a Saurian, it’s a bit big for me.

“
For your journey, moonleaf. Be
nourished.” Then Gandy hands me a basket filled with leaf jellies
and animal purees — Saurian delicacies — for my voyage.

I have never observed a Saurian cry
before, but her eyes seem wet.

My eyes are damp, too. After so
many months here, I will miss these lizard folk. They have provided
me a place to rest, to study, and to heal.

And now, once their second, larger,
orange sun rises to complement the smaller white one, I will climb
into the plasmechanical ship that awaits me.

And I will take leave of my new
friends, to see if once lost, you can ever find anything like home
again.

Chapter Seven

Eli: Sword and Oboe

December 24, 1941 C.E.

The Dino Sword. But that’s not what
it’s called here. Here it’s called
EXCALIBUR!
KING ARTHUR’S “DRAGON SWORD,” WHICH LET HIM RULE OVER A
KINGDOM.
And then a smaller sign below that says
REPLICA BASED ON HISTORICAL
SOURCES
.

I’m looking right up at it, from my
place on the floor. Up at the sword, the lights, and the big jerk
who plowed into me.

I’m a little dizzy. A memory of
being about four years old, and watching a cartoon on an early
Comnet screen comes floating back.
The Adventures of King Arthur
and Laddy.

Laddy was a sidekick. A little boy,
not much older than I was then. Arthur had an enchanted sword,
which Laddy would sometimes try to use, getting himself into a jam
when he did. Together, the king and Laddy would chase dragons. But
the dragons all looked like dinosaurs to me. When Mom would come in
the afternoons, after the show was over, I’d sit in her lap and
tell about the Dino Sword.

They called it “Dragon Sword” on
the show, but I always called it “Dino Sword” instead. And so did
Mom.

“
You stupid little kid.” It’s the
blond guy who crashed into me. He’s not even that much older than
me. Maybe around fifteen or so. Maybe he thinks the suit and tie
make him look like a hotshot.

And he pronounces
kid
like
“kit.”

“
Hey,
you
crashed into
me
!”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even
offer me a hand up, just continues on his way. Which turns out to
be straight through the front door.

I’m glad he’s gone.

I get up and brush myself off. No
one seems to notice. There’s a crowd nearby, but they aren’t paying
much attention to the Dino Sword. They’re looking at the exhibit
next to it, a pair of white antlers in another display case. The
horns are like thick spider webs made of knives — or maybe
icicles.

A waiter comes by.
“Crepe?”

I don’t know what a crepe is,
exactly, but I take one so that I’ll blend in better. It turns out
to be sort of like a folded pancake, or a sweet burrito.

“
Thanks. Say, do you know why
everyone’s crowded around those deer horns? What makes them so
special?”

“
I don’t know, young sir. They’re
supposed to have some mysterious powers. But that applies to most
of the things here. I just hope they have the power to let me earn
a little overtime tonight.”

He nods and is gone, but not before
I take another crepe.

I head over to the antlers. I’m
having kind of a bad night — especially for a Christmas

Eve — and I could use a little
magic.

“
Everyone wants to see the White
Stag, kid.” I turn around. It’s Caen. He’s drinking some champagne.
“I’d offer you a sip, but I might get in trouble.” He winks at me
and tilts his glass toward the case. “The de Young is claiming the
antlers are real, straight from King Arthur’s forest, but they
won’t tell anyone how they got ’em. Even the British embassy wants
to know. The mystery makes ’em more valuable as a fundraising
device, I guess. But they’re splitting half the money —”

“
Don’t tell me. With war
bonds.”

“
Right. I guess that’s the kind of
thing you do when there’s a big war on. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe
people realize what’s happening, after all. Say, you still want to
meet DiMaggio?”

“
Yeah!” Suddenly I’m feeling a
little less gloomy.

“
He’s over there, near the back.
Apparently the Yankee front office thought it would be a swell
thing if he came and, you know, spoke a few words about our boys in
uniform.”

“
He’ll have to say them pretty
loudly.” Between the music and the crowd noise, I’m almost shouting
myself.

“
It’s only noisy, kid, because
tonight this isn’t a museum, it’s the ‘Last Chance
Saloon.’”

“
What do you mean?”

“
There aren’t going to be too many
more parties like this for a while. With the war here, people are
afraid. That’s why everyone’s a little extra loud tonight. Keep the
ghosts at bay.”

I wonder if he knows Charlie
Dang.

He finishes his champagne and sets
the empty glass down on a display case. Inside is one of the
“Haunted California” items — a whip used by an outlaw named Joaquin
who became a ghost himself. A headless one, even. According to the
sign.

“
Spooky stuff, huh?” Caen says.
“The replica of his pickled head is right over there.” He points
around the corner of the case. “At least, they claim it’s a
replica. Either way, that oughtta cheer everyone up. Say, kid, did
your mom and pop ever get here?”

“
No, not yet.” I look around the
room, wondering if my mom is going to find out about this and show
up after all.

“
Too bad, they’ll miss out on
Joltin’ Joe.”

I turn to follow him, when a voice
booms across the room: There’s a man up near the musicians, talking
into one of those giant voice amplifiers like the radio actors were
using at the hotel. It’s amazing how big all the electronic
equipment is back here.

“
Hold on to your hat, kid — you’re
about to get pitched.”

“
What do you mean,
‘pitched’?”

“
Our revered host is about to say a
few words.”

“
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”

He definitely wanted to be heard
above the noise.

“
I’M CHESWICK TRIPPLEHORN, THE
DIRECTOR OF THE MUSEUM, AND IT’S MY PLEASURE TO WELCOME YOU TO THE
DE YOUNG!”

“
Come on,” Caen whispered. “Let’s
sneak over and see Joe before he leaves.”

“
IT’S A DARK TIME IN THE WORLD,
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! A DARK TIME. WE DIDN’T KNOW HOW DARK WHEN WE
CURATED THIS EXHIBITION. BUT NOW THAT THE WORST HAS HAPPENED —
WELL, IT CAN ONLY GET BETTER FROM HERE ON!”

There’s some applause, and I think
—
can it be?
—I see Joe DiMaggio in the back, standing next
to a pillar. He has his hands in his pockets, like he’s
cold.

“
SO LET’S WIN THIS WAR FAST, AND
LET’S START TONIGHT, WITH A LITTLE IMAGINATION AND
MAGIC!”

A little more applause. As we pass
the Asian section, I see a whole display about the
po
. After
I meet DiMaggio, I’m going to come back and look at it.

“
NOW, PLEASE JOIN ME IN THANKING
THE TWO MUSICIANS BEHIND ME, ON LOAN FROM THE SAMUEL GRAVLOX
ORCHESTRA— JOHN REESE ON VIOLIN AND DAN STERNING ON THE
OBOE!”

I stop dead in my
tracks.

Dan Sterning ... Dan the Oboe
Man!

“
Hey, kid!” Caen doesn’t know why
I’m suddenly walking in the other direction, but there’s no time to
tell him.

Ol’ Dan and the violin guy start
playing a Christmas carol, the kings one —“We Three Kings of Orient
Are”— except there are just two of
them
. I walk right up and
grab Dan’s oboe and pull it out of his mouth.

“
Hey, what’s your
problem!?”

“
Stay away from my mom ... banshee
butt!”

“
What?”

He didn’t even know he’d been
insulted. “Banshee butt” was a name Andy and I came up with to razz
each other in Barnstormers. Maybe it came out now because of all
the
po
-talk. Or maybe it was dawning on me that everybody in
the room — everybody I’d seen —was already banshee material
—ghosts, spirits —by the time I was born. Including this guy who
was after my mother.