Loonmaster

By Lee Willard

Dorrick would do anything in his power but kill to bring the creator of loon to justice. Making the most addictive substance known to man was evil in its own right, but to have done so and gone unpunished was unthinkable. With great difficulty he eventually found the name of its creator and the rumor that his lab had been in the East Wash of Trenst. While danger from other people was minimal, the East Wash had many other dangers, some mild like getting bombed when passing under an apartment tree without plumbing, to serious like falling victim to predatory fish. The wash is the home of some of the most devious people in the city, but also some of the most helpful. It just wasn't obvious which was which. It didn't matter, he would not be denied, even if it meant leaving TongSu behind at Kahlekmeel with Ression and going off on his own.

Honshu was disturbed by Dorrick leaving, and so was TongSu though she wasn't so vocal about it. She couldn't afford to be, her balloon had gone to seed and she was captive of Kahlekmeel House until the new bag was grown and detached from her root. She was trying hard to fit in at the farm and trying hard to be everything Ression could want, until she found out the truth regarding the 'reality freaks' and the 'loonies.'

Dorrick eventually finds that his quarry has gone to work for the most powerful and sinister wizard on the planet. In spite of that he presses on. Deep in his heart, he could never believe the Centorin military, the most powerful the human race had ever known, could ever be wary of the power of any person or organization on Kassidor. He was quite sure the note to that effect that TongSu found when looking up the wizard Brancettrabble was written by a Kassidorian and had to be hyperbole. There were no weapons of any power here, nothing beyond a crossbow. Thinking they could stand against the weapons and warships of Centorin was ludicrous.

He was still sure of it at the end. The wizard's palace was not as impressive as the ring of Trenst or the campus of the Kassikan. They had been treated well, almost royally. The only clue to what had really happened was the calendars of the remaining planet seemed to have lost a week.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Willard
• Release date: Sep 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005180805

Lee Willard

I am a retired embedded systems engineer and sci-fi hobbyist from Hartford. Most of my stories concern Kassidor, 'The planet the hippies came from' which I have used to examine subjects like: What would it take to make the hippy lifestyle real? How would extended lifespans affect society? What could happen if we outlive our memories? How can murder be committed when violence is impossible?I have recently discovered that someone new to science fiction should start their exploration of Kassidor with the Second Expedition trilogy. To the mainstream fiction reader the alien names of people, places and things can be confusing. This series has a little more explanation of the differences between Kassidor and Earth. In all of the Kassidor stories you will notice the people do not act like ordinary humans but like flower children from the 60's. It is not until Zhlindu that the actual modifications made to human nature to make them act that way are spelled out. To aide that understanding I've made The Second Expedition free.I am not a fan of violence and dystopia. I believe that sci-fi does not just predict the future, but helps create the future because we sci-fi writers show our readers what the future will be and the readers go out and create it. I believe that the current fad of constant dystopia and mega-violence in sci-fi today is helping to create that world, and I mention that often in reviews and comments on the books I read. I also believe that the characters in those stories who are completely free of any affection are at least as unnatural as the modified humans of Kassidor.In my reviews, * = couldn't finish it. ** = Don't bother with it. *** = good story worth reading. **** = great and memorable story. ***** = Worth a Hugo.

Book preview

1. At the Castle I.

Shregga was lead on and on toward the central keep. Each time they crossed an open courtyard he could see that they were working their way closer to the twin towers. He could see from the trees that the roofs were wide and the courtyards small here in this part of the labs. They crossed an arched stone bridge over Back Rill, a chasm forty feet deep at this point. It carried a wide and landscaped stairway now, not a rushing stream. He could tell there were many floors of underground rooms in this area because of the vent pipes, chimneys and even a few windows that pocked the chasm walls.

The bridge lead to a short, wide path that lead to a thick double door that was locked. His taciturn guide, who was dressed in castle security clothing, produced a heavy key, and stirred and twisted it in the lock in a complex dance before he was rewarded with a heavy clunk from the bolt. Wait here, he was told while his guide replaced the bolt.

They had entered a high alcove in a balcony of a magnificent chamber. His view was up among the arches and trusses of the ceiling of that space, too wide for him to throw a ball across, and twice that long. Two acres of luxurious seating, plantings, buffets, bookracks, worktables and aisles covered the floor. Four small stages lined one wall, near some of the larger seating areas.

The décor put Megnor chieftain halls to shame. All the crystal trusswork was ornate, as were the railings of the passages like this, and all around the upper rim. Loggias and terraces lined the end walls and maybe the one beneath him. The far wall was all window, hundreds of narrow panes that looked over a manicured garden and then the plains of the Karedarzin between the twin towers. Immense tapestries hung between the loggias, plush and ancient and depicting ancient scenes in photographic detail.

He’ll see you in his private study, the guide said, leading him down a stairway toward this great room. On the floor below they reached a gallery that ran along the side of this room. They followed that to the right to the end of this great chamber, a long walk in itself. Shregga looked at the people on the floor of this room. Most seemed to be at their ease, some were petting, some were playing tenk. There was a serious meeting going on in one grouping. A small procession was going out to the grounds, lectured by a helmet-user in robes.

They went down another stairway to a hallway that lead to the front of the building. They traveled the width of the great room, not on its rail but behind the loggias and their service rooms. They went on in a hallway that overlooked the gardens from the third floor. It was another long walk. They entered the base of the left tower, if you were looking from the river. In front of them was another very ornate door, at which his guide called.

Send him right in, a deep but gentle voice said from within.

Shregga entered a room about forty feet square and only twenty feet high, small compared to the great room out front, but the view from these clifftops on the edge of the Kendre was breathtaking. From here one could actually see the river sparkle on the horizon.

The man who greeted him was the owner himself. Shregga wasn’t of a rank to know his personal name, he was known as ‘The Owner’ formally, ‘The Old Man’ and ‘The Old Wizard’ informally by the thousands who man the day-to-day drudgery in the labs that cover a square mile of this knob on the edge of the Kendre. He was tall and a little gaunt, but wiry. He had white hair and beard but that was from the helmet. He kept himself a little more chiseled than most, but Shregga knew he was overmatched, physically as well as mentally. Shregga had never taken many enhancements for himself, while this man built this lab to research ways of enhancing himself. Wizard Shregga sir, at your service.

Let’s sit here near the window if you like, I notice you admire the view.

It was said that his enhancements gave him the ability to read minds as well as control them if need be. It is beautiful sir.

They chatted of Shregga’s current projects, the woman who was currently sharing his bed and the maintenance of the labs for a few minutes. Even Shregga knew this wasn’t why he was here, but guessed the Old Man was trying to put him at ease. He acted as at-ease as he could under the circumstances.

What do you know of Centorin? the old wizard finally asked.

What’s in the popular press, I’ve got no contacts there. Shregga wondered what this was about, he wasn’t even interested in Centorin. I haven’t seen any real proof that it isn’t a media fabrication made up to sell a new line of video games.

The wizard clearly knew better, So you can’t think why a Centorin travel reporter would be inquiring about you?

Shregga was totally confused. A Centorin travel reporter? I don’t get it. A Centorin genetics reporter I can understand, after all I am one of the top experts on the megamillitentacloids in the world. A local travel reporter I can understand because I spent centuries in the city and made full use of what it had to offer.

He works for Hostra Tours, does that ring a bell?

No, first time I heard the name.

The wizard put his hand to his beard and looked into his mind for a moment. Shregga knew the first purpose for this entire laboratory complex was to enhance that mind to the limit science allowed. When his eyes refocused on Shregga he said, So it must be something personal. Could it be he’s tripped up on your little tinkering with the foeth?

It’s possible, but there’s no one left who knows about that.

If anyone ever knew, someone stills knows.

There are those who worship what I’ve done, there’s a cult of it you know.

Of course I know, See Only Thru, but I doubt a Centorin would join it. Shall we entertain the possibility that he means to take action to redress the harm he may feel you’ve done him?

I bow to your intellect but don’t follow it?

Centorin has a very straight-laced culture, the odds that a member of that society will react positively to finding himself a victim of the strongest addiction known to man are very slim.

Shregga nodded. He couldn’t argue that point, not with this man anyway.

Centorin society is also very violent. He could very well mean to do you harm.

How can he overcome the Instinct? Shregga asked.

He probably can’t, but he could cause property damage if he was to get into the lab.

Do you mean to turn me over to him?

No, the wizard said, the filtration problem you’re on is important. Megamillitentacloids could live in some of the most highly toxic environments known and that ability was being harnessed in water filtration membranes. There’s other things you could be useful with. But in case you wonder, it is only your usefulness that makes me protect you. It’s also going to cost me quite a bit. I’ll have to have this Centorin found and tracked, and the Instinct prevents me doing anything to him like it prevents him doing anything to you.

What would you like me to do?

Pay for at least two thirds of that security detail. Your account should last at least two years and we can hope that this can be resolved before then.

This lab invented the Instinct, surely we can find a work around.

If that ever got out, he said, the damage would be incalculable. Shregga understood and nodded. Certainly much worse than the results of your big mistake, the Old Wizard added.

I’m not the one who released it in the wild, he tried hard to keep himself from shouting and almost succeeded. Didn’t your men pass that on?

You failed to prevent it getting into the wild, that is the problem. Let’s say our labs had failed to prevent an early attempt at the Instinct from getting into the wilds. It was too strong, people were paralyzed if they got angry, envious or even mildly irritated with someone. If we had let that get into the wilds, we would all live in isolation today because we wouldn’t be able to interact at all.

Loon hasn’t had that big an impact on society.

No, but its impact has been noticeable, the old man said, and almost universally negative.

2. In the Wash

The East Wash was some of the most trackless planetary surface that Dorrick had ever seen. Half apartment trees, half lon pond, occasional brushbreaks too thick to get the kayak thru, now and then a tidal channel completely confused about which direction it should be going. The hangleaves right here were sickly and stunted, the homes within often fashioned from cast off canvas patched with packaging tape and upholstery scraps. This particular neighborhood was one of the farthest from the beaten path, and one of the least prosperous and least known he had encountered in the city so far.

He could smell shit in the water, clintons were thick to feed on it. There was a thick scum between the lon leaves, and he could see tentacles coil even in this murk. He doubted that any plankways reached here and he had seen no tube lines or crystal buildings for days. He could understand why this would be the location of choice for the one he sought. It was the kind of area where none asked questions and none kept valuables.

His lab would have to be damn near fortified here, so it should be a big, noticeable building. But the East Wash is nearly a hundred square miles of trackless, isolated swamp. No buildings stood out, no signposts marked the way. There were other kayaks about and their paddlers regarded him with suspicion. No doubt few ventured from their own neighborhood in this area.

Commercial enterprises were few. He wondered where people bought their supplies, but when there is little money in the area, there will be little sold. The tide moved sluggishly thru the area, but it brought enough fish to keep many hooks in the water. The lon ponds were sparse and the tell marshes were small and guarded against outsiders.

He spotted an aging plankway across a tell-choked shallows. On it was a tall and stately woman with lush brown hair, curled at the ends. She was nude and darker than most in these depths where many are quite pale. She seemed to be checking the tell, it was nearing ripeness.

Next week I’d think, he called to her.

I can pull a little for myself today, she answered, but for the bulk of it I think you’re right. She turned and swayed a little. She had a good shape, not as smooth as an Elf girl, but not as rough as a Troll. She had some Troll or Nordic mixed with the local standard and nice big jugs just firm enough to pass the pencil test. About two thirds of the population of this area is nude at home on Afternoonday, so that in itself was not unusual.

Dorrick thought she was glad to pose as he asked, I wonder if you could help me with this address? he waved the paper he had it written on. It had taken years of work, all over the city to come up with that address. He’d gone thru those in loon depravity as deep as Yorgar’s, the foeth hunter that he tried to film when he got stuck in the swamp city.

My eyes can’t see that from here, she said. Paddle over to the house, I’ll meet you there. She pointed to the base of the tree at the end of her plankwalk.

Their dock was a big, projecting root of the hangleaf they lived in. There was an enclosed house, very small, in the trunk of this hangleaf, but at least eight more camps or nests in the limbs above. They were mainly hammocks, tarps, hanging net bags for belongings and steps on branches connecting them all. She had to go thru the house to get to the dock. As she opened the door he could see the space was very compact. She was out on the dock before he could get out of the kayak, and took the note it was written on.

She tried to read it aloud. Five from north, Binadeckta Pond 15, Eastwash Trenst.

That address.

Binadeckta Pond 15 is not a lot of help. He was still in the kayak, she was standing over him with her lush brown fluff nearly in his face. Her sex was on alert but not mobilized yet. You’ll have to wander all over the wash trying to find someone who’s heard of it.

Third week at it, Dorrick said.

I can tell you that the longer you take looking for it, the more distant it will become.

Sounds like a riddle.

I’ll solve it for a boink and a duskmeal in Xantappi.

That’s at least ten miles, Dorrick said, and I don’t have my sail and outrigger with me.

We can take my boat if you don’t tell anyone.

You’re full of riddles.

But quite empty of semen at the moment and in need of a refill.

How about duskmeal and then Dusksleep, and you tell me all you know about this riddle? He was hoping she would begin with, ‘That’s where Shregga has his lab and it’s...’ and fill in what he wanted to know. He was also hoping he wouldn’t have to spend the dark in the boat.

Come on into my lair and we’ll talk about it.

She would agree to take the boink now and then the duskmeal and maybe dusksleep depending on how the quick one went, but agreed to solve the riddle of that address for the quick one alone. The couch converted to a bed with two pins and some folding legs. The open space in her home was about twelve feet square, with the corners taken up with the main trunks of the tree. Some of the shelves were level, but no part of the floor.

Dorrick had no regrets at paying this price for any information. She could have been a bit cleaner, but she wasn’t as childlike as many in this city. Some of these people who’s lives went back to before Centorin was settled looked like they were thirteen standard years. This woman looked like she was twenty eight. TongSu had looked about that same age. By now Dorrick looked like he was thirty five. He’d looked forty when he first set foot on this planet, three standard years ago.

TongSu was still with Ression and would probably become a partner in the Island of the Sisters, Kahlekmeel. Her balloon had put down roots and gone to seed there, the new gasbag was now full sized and it was a week to week thing when her new balloon would put aside her root and take to the air again. He didn’t think she really cared when it lifted, she seemed content to stay at that farm with Ression.

l’Mok put on a wrapskirt and took a short jacket with her as they left. As they got ready to get into her boat, she explained that, So here’s the scoop, the Binadeckta Ponds were open in the 50’s, they’re gone now. The shores of some of them can still be traced, but most of them have grown in with tightswamp full of scrounges. They started paddling away from the house. She pointed with her paddle to the slough beyond the house on the other side of her tell marsh. They had to slide thru lon and slide under a couple apartment trees to get there.

Her kayak was a little sharper than his, but it might be heavier. She had a nice set of paddles, but Dorrick would have brought his if she hadn’t objected. He heard the hiss and pop as they were rounding that other house, a burly and sagging old hangleaf looking a lot more like a wing of Kahlekmeel than the little young one she was in. The slough they came into was a small one, wide enough for a line of traffic in each direction between small lon ponds. In a few hundred yards the neighborhood was a bit better, these houses had plumbing at least. Hers did not.

Pretend you’re still paddling, she said, I don’t want anyone around here to know I got this motor.

So you know something about these ponds? Dorrick asked, not really surprised about her neighborhood and the problems she might have living there.

They were hip in the 50’s, she said, "lots of little invitation-only swamp clubs made of driftwood and canvas with various skulls on sticks out