The Rings of Salammis

The Launch - Part 3

     There was nothing on deck two to interest Thomas for long. The laboratories and workrooms that would soon be filled to bursting with obscure and arcane equipment and apparatus were still bare and empty, and the small chapel that could be accessed from either the human or moon trog side had not even been consecrated yet. He spent a few moments exploring the invisible edge of the gravity field that would allow a moon trog to float in weightless comfort next to a human sitting comfortably on one of the curved benches before growing bored with it and wandering out again.

     He was on his way to the tiny, cramped wizards' laboratories to see how much room the ship's design had allowed him when he was brought up short by the scream of tortured metal. He froze in alarm, waiting to see if it would come again, and he thought of the cavern outside slowly being depressurised. The Ship of Space being exposed to vacuum for the first time. Could that noise have been part of the hull starting to give way under the strain?

     He was about to run back to the bridge to alert Saturn to the danger when the sound came again, and he was relieved to find that it didn't come from the outer hull. It was coming from the stairs down to the next deck. Probably just one of the workmen doing something, he thought, and he moved in that direction to see if he was right. He might be in the mood for a chat, he thought hopefully. Anything to relieve the boredom and make the time pass faster.

     The clay man was too busy in his task to hear the wizard descending the steps behind him. He'd managed to force the sword two inches under the metal hemisphere and it had taken all his strength to do it, but from that point on the sword remained a constant thickness so it should require much less force to push it the rest of the way. He was about to give it the final push when a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he spun around just as Thomas's head was coming level with the ceiling. He and the wizard saw each other, therefore, at almost exactly the same time.

     Thomas gave a gasp of horror at what he saw. A tall, gangling creature wearing a Beltharan uniform much too small for it. Its upper body was powerful and muscular but the head, which still bore a resemblance to that of Bobby Fell, looked ridiculously small in comparison. It had partially reverted to its natural form as it concentrated on height and strength rather than appearance, and a pair of piggy red eyes glared out above a tiny pug nose. Somehow, the traces of Fell's appearance that it had retained made it more horrible than if it had been completely monstrous.

     They stared at each other for a moment, each as surprised as the other, but the clay man was the first to recover. With a snarl of rage it wrenched the sword free and hurled it with all its strength at the wizard. Thomas dodged instinctively, not fast enough, but the sword wasn't balanced for throwing and it spun as it flew through the air so that it was the hilt that struck him with numbing force in the side rather than the blade. The force of the impact threw him back against the bulkhead and his feet slipped out from under him, landing him on his bottom on the hard stairs.

     The clay man didn't wait for him to recover but threw itself upon him, its appearance already changing to mimic the wizard so that Thomas found himself staring into a pair of crazed blue eyes as his mirror image ran up the stairs towards him. He fumbled for the words of a defensive spell, any defensive spell, but he couldn't concentrate in his fear and the words refused to come. Instead his hand, thrust out to the side for balance, met the sword and, without realising what he was doing, he snatched it up in both hands and held it point outwards, towards the onrushing monster.

     The clay man paused, but only for a moment. Wizards don't know how to use swords, he knew. Their studies took up all their free time, leaving none left over for weapons training. If he gave the wizard time to compose himself, though, he would be able to bring the words of his spells to the front of his mind and the clay man would be finished. He knew exactly how much chance he would stand against a wizard calm and composed and ready to cast spells. None at all. With only a moment's hesitation to reach a decision, therefore, he threw himself upon the wizard, trusting the moon trog glass ceramic armour to protect him from injury.