The second node also blew, which the engineer laughed about, but when the third one went he began to become visibly perturbed.
"Not the power streams," he muttered. "Maybe the intermix ratio." A moment later he was inside a third alcove, reaching inside with a long, spindly tool that hummed and emitted flashing sparks of light.
"How many spares have we got?" asked Tager Yee, beginning to look worried.
"Plenty," replied the engineer confidently, but a few minutes later there were five blown energy distribution nodes sitting in a line on the wooden scaffold bench the felisians had erected to stand and work on, their crystal purity marred by streaks of darkness running through their angular limbs. Murrla was also beginning to look worried now and sent his commander out to fetch some more. "Don't worry," he assured the felisians. "There's plenty stored in the building. The Masters believed in carrying plenty of spares."
"Can you make more when you run out?" asked Thomas, staring at the blown components with unease.
"No," replied the engineer, "but don't worry, we've got plenty. Enough to last for years and years."
"But one day they will run out," pointed out the wizard, "and when they do, your silver ships won't fly any more, and there must be other components that can't be replaced. Back on Veglia, I saw your people cannibalising one ship to repair another. What happens when you can't do that any more?"
Murrla grinned unconcernedly. "It was never our intention to become a spacefaring race," he explained. "We're only going into space to find out what happened to the Masters, whether they're ever likely to come back and whether there're any other civilisations out there that might be a threat to us. If, one day, we're able to conclude that we're not likely to be invaded again, we'll happily abandon the machines of the Masters and return to our true way of life. The life of the hunter. Small tribes, roaming free, relying only on our own teeth and claws to catch our prey. As we used to be, before the Masters came. All we require is that the ships last that long. After that, we will have no further use for them."
A look of dreamy, almost religious fervour had come over his face as he said this, a look Thomas had seen before on priests extolling the virtues of their deities and which Matthew associated with servicemen long away from their loved ones. This, clearly, was the dream of their race. Their version of the blissful afterlife promised by most of the Gods, the difference being that they hoped to achieve it in this life, not the next. Thomas would have been willing to bet, though, that if they had some idea of an afterlife, it would be much the same.
Tager Yee returned a few moments later with a small metal box which he opened to reveal two dozen power distribution nodes. Murrla quickly burned out another half dozen of them, but the next flickered for several minutes before going dark and the engineer grinned with delight. "Got it now," he said triumphantly. "It's the soliton collimator. Too many spikes in the waveform." He made another adjustment, removed the dud node and entered another. "This time," he promised. "This time, you'll see."
This time the flicker was less pronounced and the glow was markedly duller, but as they watched the glass spider brightened and Murrla clapped his hands with glee. Patterns of colour ran along the bare metal walls of the cabin, settling down, to the delight and relief of the occupants, to the familiar configuration of a functioning silver ship. The power distribution node continued to flicker now and then, but Murrla was content to declare a victory and closed the alcove door with a triumphant flourish. "Told you," he smirked with satisfaction.
"Well done," said the commander, although there was a trace of doubt on his face that suggested he was as unhappy with that remaining flicker as the Tharians were. What would happen if the power failed while they were a few hundred feet above the ground? Thomas swore that, if they made it back to Tharia, he would never get aboard a silver ship again. Never in a thousand years!
He left to bring the others, and when they returned the felisians were hastily removing the wooden scaffolding, restoring the clean emptiness of the interior, while others were climbing all over the hull making last minute adjustments and closing hatches. Before long the mirrored hull was smooth and unblemished once more, except for the access hatch where Tager Yee waited to welcome them aboard.
"Has everyone got everything?" he asked. "We're not coming back if you find you've left something behind."
"We're going now?" asked Timothy in surprise.
"Have you got some reason for delaying?" asked the felisian commander.
"No, no, I just wasn't expecting... I was hoping to bless the ship before we left."
"You can bless it from inside once we're underway," snapped Saturn impatiently. "Gown, you've loaded the maps and charts?"
"All aboard," confirmed the younger wizard, although he checked anyway, just in case. He opened the storage hatch and there they were, right where he'd left them. "Yep, all here," he confirmed.
"Then I suggest we leave immediately," said Saturn, closing the hatch behind Jop Sonno, the last aboard. "Take us up, Commander."
Tager Yee gave the order to his crew, who moved around the cabin activating controls. Thomas noticed that the displays seemed a little different from those he'd seen aboard the Bescot, but that didn't seem to bother the felisians who moved surely and confidently, bringing the ship to life and giving it its instructions. "Brace yourself," ordered the commander. "We lift in sixty seconds."
The Tharians gathered at the stern of the ship, which would be the lowest point when it began to move. Once again the younger men took their places right at the extreme end, where the walls narrowed towards a rounded termination, while Thomas grabbed hold of a metal rung about half way up, where he could watch the crew. To his surprise Saturn joined him there, and the younger wizard remembered that the older man no longer had the spells memorised that allowed him to levitate in stately splendour. Until he got home and studied his spellbooks, he had to hang from the handholds just like the rest of them. Thomas was surprised to feel a pang of sympathy for him. This must be a considerable embarrassment to the old man and a blow to his pride. He made a point not to stare directly at him, not wanting to make the old man feel any worse than he already did.
"Lifting in ten seconds," said Tager Yee, looking over the status displays one last time. "Hold on everyone. Five, four, three, two, one..."
A shudder ran through the ship, and the front end rose slowly and steadily. The Tharians all felt a tingle of excitement that they were about to begin the journey home, and Thomas imagined his reunion with Lirenna, how her face would light up with joy and delight as he stepped through the door. How she would stare in disbelief that he was finally there, thinking she must be dreaming, before gradually coming to accept it was real and flying tearfully into his arms. Pure fantasy, of course. She would hear about his return long before they actually came face to face, but it was a wonderful fantasy all the same. Then he thought about the power distribution node, glowing away in its little alcove, though. If you're going to fail, he thought, fail now. Don't wait until we're a mile up.
The power didn't fail, though, and the nose continued to lift until the ship was standing vertically. Then came the unsettling sensation of the organs sagging inside his body as his weight increased, telling the wizard that they'd left the ground. They were rising. Thomas prayed silently for the little glass spider; willing it to hold, to survive. If it could hold out until they reached orbit they could replace it at their leisure. It was the rise into orbit that was the critical period. He wished he'd told Timothy and Drenn about it, so they could pray to their respective Gods, but it was too late now. It would only alarm everyone if he mentioned it now.
☆☆☆
Back on the ground, a wagonload of traders froze in terror to see a silver cigar shape rising in total silence above the crumbling skyscrapers ahead of them. The sun gleamed from the mirrored hull, momentarily blinding them, and there were violet patches in their eyes when they looked again. They jumped from their wagon and fled for the safety of a nearby pile of ruins, remembering the warnings of their grandfathers as they'd spoken of the monsters from the sky who enslaved all they could catch and doomed them to a lifetime of crippling servitude. A terror they'd thought had come to an end fifty years before.
They peered out through clumps of thornweed, shivering in fear, but the object was continuing to rise, ignoring them completely, and they gasped in relief when they realised that it was leaving. Fear turned to grateful wonder, and they stared at it until it shrank to a brilliant point of light and vanished. Even then, though, the men couldn't bring themselves to move, terrified by the thought of what the spectacle might forebode, and it was nearly an hour before they climbed back aboard their wagon and raced back to their homes and loved ones, frantically asking each other what in the world it meant and whether the dark days of the Biggers might be about to return.
☆☆☆
The ring’s defense grid noted the launch and initially assumed that, rising from the surface of the world it was defending, it had to be a friendly ship. It hadn't been notified of the launch, however, and the ship didn't respond to its hails.
Banks of silicon logic considered the problem and concluded that it was an enemy ship that had managed to slip through undetected. It had attacked the planet and was now going home, no doubt loaded with prisoners and plunder.
Wanting to rescue prisoners if at all possible, it sent a message to the traffic police, but as before there was no reply. They must have been taken out by a previous attack. With a pang of regret for the captured innocents aboard, therefore, the defense grid ordered an attack, and a moment later a barrage of missiles was sent racing towards the escaping ship.