The Rings of Salammis

Kronos - Part 4

     Up on deck four Pondar saw teams of human and moon trog workmen putting the final touches to the ship's superstructure.

     Apart from the gravity, the shayen Orb of Propulsion and such fripperies as furniture and decoration, the Ship of Space was more or less complete. The only thing keeping it in its launching cradle was the last little bit of welding, done with moon trog burner cables that carried concentrated sunlight down from light funnels on the surface of the smallest moon. Once that was finished, the ship could be launched with a skeleton crew to begin its search for the civilisation that had produced the Rossem ship; the gigantic alien vessel the discovery of whose wrecked remains had thrown the wizards of Lexandria Valley into such a panic. If there was a powerful civilisation somewhere in nearby space, they were determined to find it and learn as much about it as possible. The ship would probably be launched in the next few days, therefore, with workmen and materials moving to and from it through the teleportation cubicle it carried on the hanger deck.

     He ignored the workmen as he swam past them and they ignored him. Most mundanes were suspicious of wizards, even those who spent time in their company, and Pondar, for his part, didn't want to keep them from their work. Conversations stopped and workmen bent their heads over their tasks as he passed, therefore, looking up in relief once he was gone and making crude jokes with their fellows to disguise their fear. This particular wizard had a reputation as a hard taskmaster, after all, and no-one wanted to find out if the stories told about him were true.

     Both doors of the airlock were open, a situation that would never recur once the ship was launched. It was safe enough while the ship was still in the giant cavern, a hundred yards below the surface of the smallest moon, though, and so the old wizard pulled himself through without a thought, onto the walkway. He then swung himself clumsily from one handhold to another, cursing the almost total absence of gravity in the name of every God he could think of as he went.

     Fortunately he didn't have far to go, as the great circular cradle in which the ship was sitting like an egg in an eggcup was just a couple of feet below the metal grating on which, very soon now, men wearing Necklaces of Vacuum Breathing would be able to stroll around in normal Tharian gravity, using telescopes to scan the stars both above their heads and below their feet. A constant vigil that the Beltharans had insisted on despite the contemptuous sniggers of the wizards who had a much better idea of the true immensity of space.

     A few days ago the outer hull had been bare metal, but now large parts of it were covered by fat, foamy looking tiles, each one three feet by two and a foot thick. Pondar paused a moment to watch a pair of moon trogs carefully guiding a tile into position. One of them was smearing a greasy looking green paste onto the bare metal of the hull and the edges of the tiles already present, while the other held the massive looking tile with his thin, fragile arms. Then they both guided it gently into position, giving it a gentle push so that its own momentum pushed it firmly into the glue.

     It came to a stop a couple of inches from its neighbours, and one of them tapped it gently into place with a wide headed wooden hammer. While he was doing this, the other pushed himself away and swam nimbly through the air to a large net hanging on the wall of the cavern that contained dozens more tiles of all different shapes, sizes and thicknesses. He sorted among them until he found the one he wanted, then pushed it back through the air towards his fellow, who was already smearing the glue in place. Pondar found it hard to believe that those crumbly looking foamy tiles would be better than good solid steel at stopping micrometeorites, but the moon trogs had been dealing with the problem for over a thousand years and he supposed they knew what they were doing.

     The two moon trogs were the only people in the huge cavern. Pieces of construction machinery lay abandoned all around, some of it already partially dismantled, the precious metal being re-used elsewhere. Some would remain, of course, and be maintained in good order, in case the Ship of Space returned needing repairs or refitting, but very few people expected that to be necessary. The ship was being readied for just one special mission; to find the Shipbuilder civilisation. Once their world had been found, all future traffic would go by way of the teleportation chamber the ship would carry there and which it would leave on the alien world if circumstances allowed. Only a half hearted effort was being made to turn the construction chamber into a drydock/homeport, therefore.

     A great wall of solid steel, incorporating a massive door in the centre like a giant catflap, had been installed in the ceiling, leading up to the surface. That door would be opened once, to allow the ship to depart, and possibly once again, to allow it to return, but then the great ship, its mission accomplished, would be mothballed forever, maybe even dismantled. Despite his cold hearted, pragmatic nature, Pondar found himself rather saddened by the thought.

     The unexpected sentimentality of the thought annoyed him and he put it firmly out of his mind. His part of the Rossem Project was now over and he was immensely glad of the fact. Now at last he could spend his remaining years on his own projects. Projects of much more immediate concern to him than a foolhardy trip through empty space in a giant steel ball. He knew his days of useful work were growing short, that he was well past his prime and that his magical powers were in fast decline, and he didn't want to waste any more of his precious time labouring for someone else's dream. He was returning to Lexandria Valley, to his own laboratory and his own work, and he didn't expect to leave again until the day he died.

    He was surprised, therefore, to see a colleague of his, a middle aged and rather excitable wizard called Weeden Jart, appear in front of him in one of the cavern's exits. The very exit, in fact, that he had intended to take on his way back to the city of Kronosia and its teleportation cubicle. Weeden was working on another of the ship's magical systems, but an entirely unconnected one, and the only times Pondar had ever had anything to do with him was during their tests to ensure that their respective works didn't interfere with each other. The spindly wizard, who always reminded Pondar of a rather tatty scarecrow, gave a start of recognition when he saw him, then gave a shrug of resignation and kicked his way in his direction. Pondar scowled in annoyance as the slightly younger wizard made his way over to him in a couple of long, slow bounds. It seemed everybody could move more easily in low gravity than him!

     Weeden's second leap brought him down right at the foot of the ship's support cradle and he grabbed a couple of girders to stop himself bouncing back up again, bending his knees to absorb the energy of the landing. Then he gave a slight flick of his ankles to take him up to Pondar's level, where he swung himself with effortless ease onto the railing beside the older wizard. "Is Saturn still here?" he asked nervously, his eyes like little black beads as they flicked repeatedly at and away from Pondar's face. "There's something I have to tell him."

     "He hasn't been here all day," replied Pondar. He had to stop himself looking at Weeden's sleeves, expecting to see sticks and straw sticking out. No normal man could possibly be that skinny! "He's still auditioning shae folk back in the valley."

     Weeden gave a hiss of annoyance. "Then I'll have to go back to tell him. It's a two hour trip back to the valley, but he'll want to be told as quick as possible."

     He prepared to leap back towards the cavern's exit, but Pondar grabbed his arm to stop him. He was amazed at how thin and hard it was under the baggy sleeve of his robes. Just like a wooden pole! He really is a scarecrow!

     "Told what?" he demanded. "What have you discovered?"

     Weeden tensed up, as if he was about to pull away, but then gave it up as a bad idea. Besides, he had to tell someone about it or he'd burst. "I was testing my Helm of Farsensing," he said, staring right at the older wizard's eyes as if begging him to believe him. "I think I've finally got it right and I was trying to locate the test beacon. You know about that?"

     "Yes," said Pondar impatiently. The Helm of Farsensing was a magic helmet which, when worn, would allow the wearer to sense the presence of any object within several thousand miles. It was designed to be used aboard the Ship of Space and would allow them to sense any rocks, comets or spacecraft floating in nearby space. A few months ago, a pair of wizards standing on the surface of Kronos had levitated a marble statue of a nude woman up into space, giving it enough velocity to escape the feeble gravity of the smallest moon and enter an independent orbit around Tharia, so that Weeden, testing the helm, would have something to look for. They hadn't told the rather shy wizard what the 'test beacon' actually was, and were looking forward to seeing the expression on his face when he found out. If that's what's got him so upset, Pondar thought in annoyance, I'll turn him into the next test beacon!