Free The Garbage Chronicles by Brian Herbert Page B

meters.
    “Look at all those pockmarks on the surface,” Evans said.
    Javik placed Wizzy on the dashboard, saying, “I can’t make heads or tails out of you, Wizzy.”
    “A life force,” Wizzy said. “Very large, I think. I picked up similar, weaker signals from deep space. But they didn’t repeat, so I forgot about them.” Wizzy flew in a confused pattern around the cabin, then landed on the deck.
    “We have to disregard everything he’s saying,” Javik said, to Evans. “He’s out of his meckie mind.”
    Evans nodded.
    “My metamorphosis is proceeding,” Wizzy said, shaking. “I don’t understand the changes.” He scooted for cover under the science officer’s console and remained there, whimpering.
    “You’re feeling fear, Wizzy,” Javik yelled. “That’s another emotion!”
    “I want my papa!” Wizzy squealed. He sobbed.
    The Amanda Marie continued its descent.

    Below, in a gray-rock control room cave beneath the surface of the planet, a crew of dented and chipped meckies stood at computer terminals, punching entries into keyboards. The computer hardware looked long in the tooth, having been catapulted from Earth as garbage and salvaged by Lord Abercrombie.
    “We’ve got it going!” a dented red meckie said. She, like the others, carried a brass “rebuilt” plaque on her torso. “Tell Lord Abercrombie we’re making a big wind!” she exclaimed. “Hurricane strength!”
    “But Lord Abercrombie is soil-immersed now,” a silver meckie said.
    “Oh, that’s right,” the red meckie said. “We’ll tell him later, then. He’ll be very pleased!”

    Lord Abercrombie lay buried in the soil, deep in an underground chamber. This was how he spent half of each day, totally immersed in the Realm of Magic. The half of his body that remained human went into dormancy at these times, with no breathing and no fleshcarrier sensations whatsoever.
    Abercrombie’s head was the planet now. He looked out upon the universe with a billion porous visual sensors, reflecting the stars across the panorama of his magical soul.
    The universe is calling to me, he thought, telling me to join it.
    A torrent of rain poured up out of the ground, filling the atmosphere with water. Clouds formed quickly from this upside-down rain, followed by thunder and lightning. Within seconds a full-blown electrical storm was in progress, with clouds dumping rain back on the planet. When this subsided, more rain rose from the surface, restarting the cycle.
    That odd reverse rain again, Lord Abercrombie thought helplessly. What causes it?
    Thunder boomed across the sky.

    At the same time, in the control room. . . .
    “Reverse rain in Sector Seventy-four,” the red meckie said. “And one hell of a dust storm just ten kilometers south of that!” “Now our equipment is shorting out,” another meckie said. “Not again!” the meckies wailed in unison. “Not again!”

    “I see buildings down there,” Javik said. He was looking through the midships magna-scope, manually adjusting it to focus. “One looks like a large stone castle . . . and a number of smaller structures. Long gray strips, too.”
    “I’m picking up signals again,” Wizzy said, glowing bright red. “Different this time.” He sat on top of the science officer’s console. “Messages from the planet’s history. An expedition six hundred years ago led by someone named Yammarian. These were not humans. The expedition found evidence of Yanni tribesmen and Bolo herdsmen who once populated the planet. Found cliff habitats, too, and the skeletons of long goats. There was an upheaval here. Can’t tell what sort. An earthquake, maybe—or a war.”
    “Anything else?” Evans asked.
    “Don’t listen to that stuff,” Javik said.
    “Not much,” Wizzy said. “The Yannis are gone. They left or died during the upheaval.”
    “Well, they’re back,” Evans said. “Or someone is.”
    Wizzy’s bright red color faded, then flickered. “I’m losing the