Wizards At War

Kit blinked, and threw the rock well away from the outcropping, across the bare gritty plain. Ponch tore off across the planet’s surface after it, leaving little scoots of gravel hanging up in the vacuum in a trail behind him. If that’s his idea of “the usual thing,” Kit thought, then all the Choices I’ve run into now have been real unusual. In fact, Ponch’s version of his species’ Choice didn’t sound much like a choice at all. And he didn’t sound very interested in talking about it.

He watched Ponch pounce on the rock, pick it up, shake it around, and lose it because of shaking it too hard; he went bounding across the surface again to get it back. Then again, Kit thought, there are some species that’re in really close relationships with each other, and their Choices are interrelated. Why shouldn’t the dogs’ Choice be involved with the human one? It makes a kind of sense.

Ponch skidded to a stop in front of Kit, dropping the rock in front of him. Again!

“Yeah, sure,” Kit said. He picked up the rock and threw it. Ponch went bouncing off after it. Boy, he’s really into it this morning. Needs to dump some stress, I guess.

Kit had to grin at himself then. Oh, great. Now you’re doing psychoanalysis on your dog.

But still… There’d been an overly casual quality to the way Ponch had been talking about the canine Choice. As if there was something about it he didn’t want to be thinking about. Almost as if he was trying to distract himself.

Ponch came bounding and plunging back with his rock, and dropped it in front of Kit once more. Again!

“Uh, no, I think we’ve done enough of that.”

Why? Is it time for something? Ponch looked a little crestfallen.

“Probably,” Kit said, fervently hoping that this was true. But he had to smile; Ponch’s sense of time was weak, except when mealtimes were concerned. “Let’s have a look here.” He got out his manual and flipped its cover open to show the front page, which he’d set to show him the date and time. “See, it says here—”

Then his jaw dropped.

314.3? How did that happen? Crap!!

Kit slapped the manual shut, turned around, and started back toward the pup-tent accesses. “Come on,” he said, “we’re running really late! We have to get Neets up.”

Ponch began to jump up and down with excitement as they went; in the low gravity, he was able to jump up to a height where his head was level with Kit’s. How come?

“Because it’s a lot later than it should be!” Kit started doing the astronaut-bounce that was the only way to hurry in this kind of gravity without falling on your face. “And I don’t know how it got that way. Come on!”

***

Nita stood in front of the mirror over the chest of drawers in her bedroom, staring anxiously at her face. I was right, she thought, utterly exasperated, as she pushed her bangs aside to get a closer look. It is a zit.

She let out a breath, then. Trouble is, this isn’t real. I’m asleep. And what am I wasting my time dreaming about? Zits! Nita shook her head. I can’t believe that the other day I actually thought this was a big deal.

Nonetheless, the place where the pimple was coming up still stung. Nita found herself torn between the eternal choices: squeeze it, which always grossed her out and sometimes left a mark? Or do a wizardry on it? Or just let it be, and go through the next couple of days feeling like a leper?

She shrugged. It’s a dream. There may not be a pimple at all. Just leave it alone. We’ve got more important things to think about.

Nita turned away from the mirror and found herself not in her bedroom at all, but out on the surface of Metemne. This sort of abrupt transition was normal for lucid dreaming, and Nita had learned over time to let these experiences take her where they wanted to.