* * * * *
It was my first commission: The Barnacle. A small ship, surely, but one with proud lines and a dainty touch to her engines. It had star-drive, naturally, and was about to be christened when I arrived. I was late. Not a good sign—my patron was not pleased. I gave no explanation, and he did not press me for one, despite his concern. A wise choice.
“Where will she be berthed?” I asked—the particulars were necessary.
“Pier six-nine-three-three-one in Space Dock Central,” my patron answered.
I thought about the number and found no negative impulse—no positive one, either. It was ambiguous. I did not let my uncertainty show. “Mission?”
“One-way to Agri-World Complex to become part of the Patrol Force.”
He was nervous. Good—more energy to draw on. The mission was routine—no anomalies, few—if any—risks. Hopeful, but not quite enough. “Pilot?”
“Captain Frakes Mannittee, Omega Class—top-of-the-line crew.”
Pride? That could be problematic. The pilot’s name was known to me—he had experience and considerable skill. Only one question remained: “Payment?”
My patron almost spoke—but chose not to. Again, a wise choice. He handed me a pouch and I pocketed it without checking the contents. There was no chance that he would try to cheat a Washishisha Wizard—we both knew better. I turned toward the craft.
I circled it three times, counter-clockwise, muttering the incantation as if I had done it a thousand times. I hadn’t, of course—this was the first time. “Wa-shi-shi-SHA! Wa-shi-shi-SHA! Wa-shi-shi-SHA!” I began the gyrations on the third circle, continuing to chant, “Wa-shi-shi-SHA!”
I suddenly stopped cold and intoned some gibberish, occasionally throwing in words they would recognize—the captain’s name, the ship’s name (more than once), my patron, and so on. I was almost winded by the time I paused, again.
“May the space be kind and gentle to this fair ship, her captain, her crew, and all who sail within her!” The christening was completed by my writing “The Barnacle” (thank God I spelled it right!) in script upon the ship’s side. The chalk I used was a fluorescent blue that radiated nicely through the evening air. Quite compelling.
I gyrated around the ship—clockwise, this time—chanting, “Wa-shi-shi-SHA!” then circled twice more without gyrating. When I was done, I turned and walked away without word or glance for anyone.
As soon as I was far enough away to satisfy social convention, the assembled party began to cheer. I smiled—not in pride or joy, but in sadness. The poor, poor fools. I, a Washishisha Wizard, had done nothing more than chase away the demons living in their own minds. My magic was an illusion, empty of substance, full of promise. I sighed—the gem stones jingled softly at my side, bearing the full weight of my first commission.
My father would be proud.