Christopher Stasheff - The Warlock Unlocked

“Yes; we should be hearing a 1650 Hz tone.” Brother Chard looked up. “I didn’t know you knew electronics, Father.”

Father Al shrugged. “Cathodeans pick up a lot from each other, especially during the seminary bull-sessions. I wouldn’t claim to be an FTL mechanic, but I know basically how the isomorpher works.”

“Or how it doesn’t. Well, let’s see where the circuit broke.” Brother Chard pulled out a set of probes and started poking at the isomorpher’s insides. Father Al crouched beside him in the crawl space, silent and intent, watching the meter on the forearm of Brother Chard’s suit, atop the pocket that held the probes.

Finally, the monk looked up. “No break, Father. Current’s flowing through the whole beast.”

“Then you’ve got a grain that’s passing current, but not doing anything with it. May I try?”

Brother Chard stared at him; then, reluctantly, he moved back. “Certain you know what you’re doing, Father?”

“Enough to know how to find out which grain is gone.” Father Al slipped the probes out of his sleeve pocket. “We just test each pair of terminals, and when the needle goes into the red, we’ve found the trouble-spot, haven’t we?”

“Yes, that’s all,” Brother Chard said drily. “Check your chronometer, Father; I think we’ll have to go back for a recharged air cycler in about an hour.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’ll take us that long.” Father Al started probing.

Brother Chard was silent; when his voice came over the headphones, it was strained. “I hope you’re right, of course, Father—but it could take a week. If only we had a diagnostic computer aboard!”

“Well, a pinnace can’t carry everything,” Father Al said philosophically. “Besides, Brother Chard, I have a certain faith in the perversity of electronic circuitry.”

“You mean a faith in perversity, period, don’t you, Father? I’ve heard some of the stories you Cathodeans tell about Finagle; sometimes I think you’ve fallen into heresy, and made a god of him!”

“Scarcely a god—but we might promote him to the status of demon, if he were real—which, fortunately, he’s not. But the perversity he personifies is real enough, Brother.”

“True,” Brother Chard admitted. “But the perversity’s in us, Father, not in the Universe.”

“But so much of our universe is man-made, Brother, so many of the things around us, the things that keep us alive! And it’s so easy for us to build our own perversity into them—especially really complicated pieces of electronics!”

“Such as an isomorpher?”

“Well, yes. But computers, too, and 3DT cameras, and any number of other gadgets. Have you ever noticed, Brother, how they’ll sometimes stop working for no apparent reason, then suddenly start again?”

“Now and then. But when you dig into them, Father, you can always find a reason.”

“When you dig into them, perhaps. Not when I do. But then, I seem to have an anti-mechanical personality; any chronometer I carry, starts gaining about five minutes a day as soon as I touch it. On the other hand, there’re people machines seem to like; let one of them walk in and lay his hand on the widget, and it works perfectly.”

“A little far-fetched, isn’t that, Father?”

“Perhaps. But I’m fetching as far as I can, right now.” Fetching aid from my patron, I hope. St. Vidicon, no matter how far away you may be, please come to my aid now ! Intercede with the Almighty for me, that this isomorpher may begin working again, long enough to get us to Gramarye and to get Brother Chard safely home again ! “That might do it.” Father Al withdrew his probes. “By the way, Brother Chard, you did disengage the isomorpher before we came out here, didn’t you?”

“Of course, Father. There’s just a trickle of current flowing through it now.”

“Good. Can you fire it up fully from in here?”

“I could.” The ghost of a smile tugged at Brother Chard’s lips. “But I wouldn’t recommend it. The ship might not go into H-space, but we might.”

“Hm.” Father Al turned away toward the access hatch. “Then let’s go back to the bridge, shall we? We’ll try it from there.”

“But you can’t think it’ll work again, Father! We haven’t even found the trouble yet.”

“Perhaps not.” Father Al turned back with a smile. “But I think we may have fixed it.”

“That’s impossible!”

“Brother Chard, you should be ashamed of yourself! All things are possible—with God.”

“And St. Vidicon of Cathode,” Brother Chard muttered; but he closed the isomorpher’s shell, anyway, and followed Father Al.

On the way back to the airlock, Father Al finally let himself feel the dread at what might happen if the isomorpher couldn’t be fixed. They’d be stranded light-years away from any inhabitable planet, with only a month’s supply of food and water. The air cycler would keep working for several years and, with strict rationing, the food might last an extra month; but no matter how you looked at it, even if they accelerated the ship to nearly the speed of light, by the time it came near enough to civilization for its beacon to summon aid, it would be carrying only two mummies.

Dread clutched at Father Al’s belly; fear soured his throat. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes. Thy will, Father, not mine. If it suits Thy purpose that I die in this place, then let it be as Thou wilt have it .

Serenity filled him; the fear ebbed away. Smiling, he ducked into the airlock.

They loosened their helmets and webbed themselves into their couches. Brother Chard fed power into the engines, then engaged the isomorpher and fired it up.

The stars disappeared in a swirl of colors.

Father Al heaved out a huge sigh. “Praise Heaven!” And I thank you, St. Vidicon, for interceding with Him for me .

Brother Chard just sat staring at the viewscreen. “I don’t believe it. I see it, but I don’t believe it.”

“Faith, good Brother,” Father Al chided gently. “With faith, all things are possible.” He took out his breviary and began reading his Office.

The Duke’s Hall was huge, panelled in a grayish wood with silver highlights, and adorned with old weapons, bent and battered shields in a variety of coats-of-arms, and the skins of animals with the heads still on—not the most appetizing decoration in the world, Rod reflected, as he looked up into the eyes of a twelve-point stag while he chewed a mouthful of venison.

He noticed that Magnus was chewing his food very carefully, and wondered why. Have to ask him about that, later . Still, it seemed like a good idea. Seemed like a good idea to be careful about everything, with Duke Foidin for a host. In accordance with which thought, he made sure that he served himself only from platters that at least two other courtiers were eating from. He noticed Gwen was doing the same, and pointedly hadn’t sipped her wine.

The Duke noticed, too. “Do you not find my vintage sweet, Lord Gallowglass?”

Rod swallowed and smiled. “Religious rule, Duke. We never touch intoxicating spirits.” We have too many for friends .

That drew startled looks from the whole table. A low mutter of gossip started up.

“Be ye paynim, then?” the Duke inquired, a little too carelessly.

“ ‘Paynim?’…Oh, Moslems! No, not at all. Are you?”

“Sir!” The Duke drew himself up, affronted, and all the courtiers stared, aghast. “What mockery is this? Are we not in Christendom?”

Okay, so they were. At least Rod knew what the local religion was. “No offense, Milord. But as you know, we’re far-travellers; I honestly did not know that you’re of the same religion as ourselves.”