DRAGON'S CHECKMATE

A large mirror, surrounded by silver scrollwork, clouded and emitted vapor into the room. A young woman walked out of the mist into the library and looked about curiously.

"Great-uncle Argen, where are you?" called Rissa. She took a breath, preparing to call again. She sneezed. Her eyes watered, and her nose started to run. "This place stinks of mold, mildew and smoke." Rissa sniffed. "Smoke?"

Her nose twitched as she followed the haze around a corner to a large cave crammed with books. He's smoking again, she thought. Through the cloud in the huge cavern, she could make out a gray-cowled elderly man seated at a table surrounded by stacks of books. "Great-uncle Argen, why didn't you answer me? You're smoking that obnoxious weed again! Wait until Mirza finds out."

Argen jerked his head from a scroll he had been reading and tried to focus on Rissa, Crown Princess of Widdershins. What was she doing on the world of Realm?

Her words broke his concentration. "What's this great-uncle business? I thought we had an agreement. I'm Uncle Argen. Beside you’ve got it all wrong. Your grandmother Lealor is my sister. I’m not that old."

He saw her eyes fixed on the cigarette in his hand. "I'm not smoking. It's – it’s merely burning while I'm reading," he sputtered defensively, putting the scroll down on a pile of paper, barely missing the tip of hot ash.

"What is this place?" asked Rissa, ignoring his protests. "All these books and papers make a great fire trap. Please put that smoking thing out." Her sneeze added emphasis to the request.

He grumbled as he mashed his cigarette in a plate full of butts. "On Earth, this would be called the stacks part of a library. These are some of the original sources of the Dragon Chronicles. Fire-breathing dragons exposed these books to flame for centuries. They can't burn. They're made of rock parchment."

Argen brushed cigarette ash off his chest. "Ah – Rissa, you'll not tell Mirza?" he pleaded. "You know how mothers are. I never carried tales to your mother." Seeing her smile, he continued, "Besides, I'm much too old to have my mother nagging me."

"That’s not why I’m here." Rissa frowned, noting the small burn holes in Argen’s clothing.

"So what did you come for?" Argen knew the musty tomes he loved held little interest for his grandniece.

"I came about Earth. I’ve a vision of the future. Not only our worlds, but also Earth will be destroyed by the Slithiz – unless I can find a new hero."

Rissa waved her arms enthusiastically. "I peeked through a gate. The fans are going to hold a Worldcon."

"Worldcon?" Argen filtered the word though his mind. "Oh, one of those science fiction-fantasy conventions."

Rissa rambled on, ignoring Argen’s puzzlement, "I need to go. I must find a hero from Earth to help solve our problems."

She noticed his skeptical look and paused. "It's not as though we haven't done it before and you know it – your father Jarl, for example. You have to help. Please?"

"Hold on. You know visions are only one alternative. It is possible. Of more immediate concern, I seem to remember that after your last escapade on Earth, your father put restrictions on your returning," protested Argen.

"I’m not here to talk about my father. We have real problems to solve."

Argen smiled at her earnestness. Rissa had claimed favorite-relative status with him since she’d toddled around in diapers almost thirty years earlier, demanding, "Wead dis book to me, peas."

"Whoa! What problems? You dumped a vision of the future where everyone is destroyed, now you’re claiming more trouble," said Argen, taking off his reading glasses and peering at Rissa.

"You're in human form. Why aren't you in your usual dragon shape like your brother, Jemmy?"

"My normal shape is human – female, if you haven't noticed."

Argen peered at Rissa. Hmm, beautiful and smart, she would drive an ordinary man crazy. Time had passed him by. When had she become a woman? Argen grunted. He preferred her as a little girl. Gorgeous women usually spelled trouble.

"Returning to human form, that's one of the problems, all right," continued Rissa, pursuing her agenda. "I can still change at will, but most shapeshifters are getting stuck in dragon form. The weren shapeshift into dragon form for one year’s service. Something's interfering with our ability to change back." She sneezed again. Rissa focused intently on the plate of smoking butts. It disappeared in a bright flash of light. No more ashtray. Rissa rubbed her hands together in satisfaction.

"Jemmy and the shapeshifter warriors are staying in dragon form out of fear of being caught defenseless in battle. They can’t return to Widdershins in dragon form. There’s still deep resentment of dragons among the majority of the natives. Weren aren’t too popular either. There won’t be any more fresh troops if this changing issue isn’t solved. That would make the present stalemate collapse more quickly. I need extra time for a hero to be effective – not less."

Briefly Argen bemoaned the loss of all those fine butts. "I don’t know anything about shapeshifting. That comes from Drak’s side of your family. Take your problem to the weren themselves. They’re experts."

"Your mother shapeshifts," replied Rissa with a toss of her head. She knew Argen could change form, too. "The weren are the ones with difficulty." That handles his objections, she thought. Why can’t I stop Father this way?

Rissa continued. "Have you heard that small groups of Slithiz are starting to break through our barriers? That’s evidence that my vision is correct."

"No. I talked to your Uncle Seren yesterday. He had no omen of impending doom. In fact, he’s bored by the stalemate. A little action would liven things up. Why bring this problem to me?" asked Argen.

"I wasn’t born yet, but tell me if I have the history right,” instructed Rissa. "First, when you were young, everyone thought the Slithiz were gone for good – because they disappeared for a century. Then those overgrown lizardly insects show up again, forcing Seren to leave his military career on Earth. So he explodes a dead planet while they’re occupying it, creating more space junk. Seren nicknamed that whole mess the battleline. That one engagement resulted in the stalemate you mentioned, the one that’s lasted until now."

Argen nodded. “All that grief condensed into one battle,” he agreed. No sense upsetting her with the skirmishes afterwards, he added to himself.

"Uncle Argen, they’re attacking again in small groups with a real vengeance. Our worlds know about the Slithiz, but Earth leaders have no idea they have an interstellar enemy. Their world wouldn’t stand a chance if the Slithiz decided to eradicate them.

"Do you think a connection exists between shapeshifters getting stuck in dragon form and the new aggressiveness of the Slithiz?" Out of breath, Rissa paused, brushing a strand of auburn hair off her forehead.

"I doubt it," replied Argen, mentally picturing their insectoid enemies. "You have your battle facts right. I witnessed that fight. Since then, the Slithiz have put all their efforts into breaking through our defensive position. Interfering with shapeshifting would never occur to their hive mind."

Rissa recognized Argen’s rubbing of the bridge of his nose with one finger as an encouraging sign. He was prepared to focus his not inconsiderable mental powers on her request.

He pushed his glasses up and said, "Let's see if I understand the problems. First, shapeshifters can no longer change back to human form at will, right?"

"Not exactly. We can still change, but the power is becoming erratic. Sometimes we can, sometimes we can’t."

"Close enough," Argen murmured to himself. He remembered how frustrated he had been many years earlier when he had changed into a fish and could not return quickly to human shape. He had been the laughing-stock of every other wizard on Realm.

"Uncle Argen." Rissa's soft voice recalled him to the present.

"Oh, yes, problem two. You want the Slithiz defeated and sent back to their part of the galaxy thus saving our worlds and Earth. Correct?"

"You got it," Rissa responded.

"Since you think a new hero from Earth can make a difference, I'll make a computer model using all the attributes the person from Earth would need to solve both problems – erratic shapeshifting and the Slithiz. Will that satisfy you?" he asked, absentmindedly polishing his glasses while looking at Rissa.

"I guess." She frowned, not following his solution. "How does a computer model help?"

"After it's perfected, I'll change it into a hologram and plant it inside your head. Your eyes will overlay the hologram on everyone you see at the con. An internal meter will rate the humans against the hologram. You will see a reading in your mind like a percentage. Anything said will be factored in, then the hologram will disappear.

He sighed. "King Drak will not be pleased at me in helping circumvent his order. I must be crazy in my old age to assist you in this quest." He rose. "You can help. We have some long hours ahead of us. Here, give me your hand."

Rissa felt relief Argen was helping. She could also tell, he really didn’t believe her – yet

* * *

POP! The room echoed. Empty. Only musty scrolls and wisps of smoke remained.

* * *

On Earth, Conrad Corbin, professional librarian, silently damned the literary impulse that led him to visit Worldcon. His business suit was alien amid the casually crazy costumes of the fen, who looked as if they shopped the outer limits regularly. Reaching the point where Jim Henson's Muppets appeared more real than his fellow conventioneers did, Con turned to leave and almost knocked down a jade-caped girl in a black body suit.

He didn’t miss the sparkle of her emerald eyes. "Excuse me," he said, trying to mask his stare at her form-fitting clothing with a polite remark.

She noted his pulse rate when her hand touched his wrist. Her internal hologram meter pegged at ninety-five percent. "I'm Rissa Ware."

He shielded her from a party of careless fen who almost bumped into her. "Con Corbin, here. Where are you going, Rissa?"

"The dealer’s, or as I call it, the huckster's room."

Her voice set off small explosions in his blood stream. “I'll help you get anywhere."

"Do you mean what you've said?" She moved closer to his six-foot frame. She realized her nearness destroyed the last of his rational powers. In that moment, he became the typical fantasy hero: strength rating – eighteen, intelligence – four.

He nodded his head.

Rissa paused as if listening to unseen advice.

Con felt a shimmer of otherness.

"Very well," she said.

He guided her to the dealer's room. Now, her hand tugged his. He followed, much as an inflated balloon bobs over the head of a child. She stopped at a table. The hodge-podge of items on its surface resembled salvage from bankrupt junk shops. She rapped impatiently.

A cherubic face popped from beneath the table. "How may I serve you, Rissa?" the dealer asked respectfully.

"The belt," she urged. "Quickly!" Her left eyebrow raised, drawing the little clerk's attention to two hooded figures in what looked like black chain mail watching her.

Con wondered what he'd got himself into this time. Trouble usually follows thinking with your glands instead of your brains, he told himself.

The clerk bowed and handed the belt to Rissa. The gaudy, silvered plastic belt with the huge buckle reminded Con of an old joke, which he hoped didn't apply to him.

"Do you really mean to help me?" Her unusual eyes glowed as they looked into Con’s ordinary brown ones.

"Yes." Con, no quitter, knew he could handle anything that happened.

"Good." She pulled her eyes away from his and clasped the ends of the belt together around his waist. "We go."

"Go where?"

The kaleidoscope of Worldcon dimmed, then vanished in the silvery mist streaming by. "Don't be afraid. We need a hero."

"I'm no hero – "

"Listen! Time is short. Never fear me. No matter what images you see, remember these are our true forms."

"Whoa, there! Where are we? I’d like some explanations….”

"I'll try to put it in terms you can understand. I'm a – a dragon of Light. Our enemies you may think of as figures of Darkness. How do I explain thousands of years of an alternate world's history to you?"

"I'm Conrad the Librarian, not Conrad the Barbarian, Rissa. Try.” His words streamed into the mist.

"Think of this as a game. If anything attacks us, use this weapon." From her cape she drew something that reminded Con of a Star Trek phaser.

"What is this? Magic?"

"Artifacts of an advanced civilization seem like magic to someone when the principles underlying them are unknown." She kissed him briefly and moved behind him. "I can hold us here in the void no longer.”

The brightness of the giant sun was blinding. Somehow the two dark figures had followed them. In the bright light they looked like giant ants crossed with lizards. Their talons shot beams of blue light at Con and Rissa. Instinctively, Con returned fire. A red beam of plasma shot from the muzzle of his weapon. Pieces of exoskeleton and chain mail flew in all directions. One assailant disappeared.

Help comes!

The sibilant thought lanced through his head. Mental telepathy? Con wondered. Why not? Is it any stranger than shooting a phaser? Noise caused him to glance over his left shoulder and see an aircraft approaching. A beam from the ship vaporized the remaining figure. Con smelled charred flesh and hot metal.

"What were those things?" He looked at his companion and swallowed. A dragon guarded his back.

A thought that carried faint overtones of the lovely woman he remembered hissed into his mind. They were Slithiz.

Now our adventures begin.