At first, nothing happened. He sensed the business end of the spell fumbling its way over the lump of cold iron, searching for something to latch onto and finding nothing. That must be what had happened every other time the spell had been tried, he realised. This foreign object, coming from an alien world, had no properties that the spell was able to recognise and use. The spell relied on the object having soaked up enough ambient magic that it retained a 'memory' of everything it had ever been, everything that had ever happened to it. Unfortunately, though, the alien variety of magic seemed to prevent ordinary magic from entering, the same way that an oily rag will not soak up water. That meant that no Identify spell would ever be able to work on the strange magical meteorite. It was fated to always be a mystery. An enigma whose secrets would never be revealed.

     Unless... An idea came to him and he concentrated on the strange, alien magic that only he was able to sense. He tried to guide the spell onto it, to tell it to use this as a template rather than the conventional magic it was used to. "Yes," he heard someone say. "Yes, that's the way." He resisted an urge to open his eyes to see who had spoken and continued to concentrate. How long did he have before the spell gave up and expired? He concentrated harder, mentally urging the spell on, willing it to make the connection...

     He felt something click in his mind and suddenly he was receiving images. His relief and joy were so great that he almost lost his concentration and he felt the spell wavering on the edge of failure. He heard an anxious intake of breath from several of the assembled wizards and hurriedly renewed his concentration, not wanting to have to face their anger if he failed them. The spell wavered again, the fuzzy, watery images shimmering and vibrating, but then it stabilised and he heaved a mental sigh of relief as the link settled down and strengthened. He, and all the assembled wizards, then gave a gasp of amazement at what he saw.

     Before being melted and almost vaporised by its fiery passage through Tharia's atmosphere, the meteorite had been a glorious and magnificent throne. A throne fit for an Emperor. The bulk of it was made of iron, but it was covered by a thin layer of purest gold, etched and pressed into the shape of climbing vines and tiny flowers, while above it reached two tall golden staves that seemed to be highly stylized gardening hoes. Sitting in the throne was an old man, his eyes squeezed closed with concentration. He had a long white beard, jeweled rings on his fingers where they rested on the arms of the throne and a high, bulbous black hat; shiny and featureless except for a strange floral pattern that resembled some of the patterns on the throne.

     The throne and its occupant were the only things that Thomas could see clearly. There were other things in the image but they were hazy and indistinct, as if seen through a dense fog. He had the impression that the throne was located in a large open space, a vast chamber of some kind. He strained to see more, but it was no good and he decided to end the spell, as it seemed to have achieved everything it could.

     Before he could do so, though, Saturn touched his arm and spoke into his ear. "We're going to try boosting the spell," he said. "Hang in there."

     Thomas nodded, and a moment later the image sprang into new clarity as the other wizards fed him more power.

     He could now see the throne chamber clearly. It was a huge hemisphere, at least fifty yards across, with ribs of some dull, dark material rising from the floor to meet at a point directly above the throne. He could now see that the throne was surrounded by a golden nimbus of light that rose above it until it formed a bar of almost solid radiance that reached up to the ceiling. There it passed out of sight, but a small portion of it was caught by the ribs and carried back down to the ground in pulsing globules of light. The whole chamber had the sense of being alive; of being the focal point of forces generated by the throne and channeled by the mind of the bearded man who sat there.

     There were other people in the room who seemed to be serving the throne in some way, although he still couldn't see exactly what they were doing. Some seemed to be entering or leaving the chamber through openings in the wall between the ribs, indicating the existence of other passages and chambers beyond this one.

     "Try to expand your field of view," said Saturn eagerly. "We must see more!"

     "I don't know how," protested Thomas, his face contorted with such effort and concentration that he resembled the man on the throne.

     "Yes you do," said Saturn impatiently. "Just will the vision to expand. Quickly, before the spell expires!"

     Thomas tried, and after a moment the throne chamber shrank as if he were moving away from it. Now he could see the passages and chambers around it, and he saw that they were all oriented along a central axis as if they were inside a long, thin building, or a huge ship. He tried to expand the vision more, but the effort was too great and the image shattered into a million glittering fragments, spinning away to infinity. A sharp jolt of pain shot through his head and he staggered like a drunkard, his mind spinning and dancing madly. Saturn caught him by the arm and guided him gently to a soft padded chair into which he collapsed, moaning and clutching his head. Gradually the pain faded, though, and he looked around at the other wizards, expecting to see them gathered around him in concern, anxious about his welfare.

     Instead, they were huddled around in small groups, talking excitedly about what they'd seen. Even Saturn seemed only half interested in him, going through the motions and clearly anxious to join the others in discussing the meaning and significance of the images. A small smile creased the corner of Thomas’s mouth at this new demonstration of his lowly status amongst such exalted company. They were mages, real wizards. Besides them, he was still barely more than an apprentice, almost beneath their notice. Then he saw one or two of them looking at him, saw the expressions in their eyes. Hungry and greedy. A lowly, humble being he might be, but they still wanted him. Wanted his ability to sense this strange, alien magic. They wanted him to cast the spell again, he saw. Wanted another look at the wonderful, glorious throne. A longer, closer look. He was theirs, he realised. Like a singing canary in a cage.

     "Are you all right?" asked Saturn, his voice full of genuine concern. The faster Thomas recovered, the sooner he could cast the spell again. Perhaps tomorrow.

     Thomas nodded. It had only been the shock of the spell's sudden ending that had affected him. He was already feeling better.

     He heard the other wizards talking. Most of it was lost in the general babble but one or two voices stood out, louder and clearer than the rest. "Possibly some kind of command chair, the source of the vessel's motive force," a man's voice was saying, although he couldn't tell which of the wizards it was coming from. "The occupant may have been..."

     "Our first glimpse of the command hierarchy!" another was saying. "This is the breakthrough we've been waiting for!"

     "I'm okay," said Thomas, rising unsteadily from the chair. "That throne we saw, that must be what the meteorite was, before it got melted up. Some kind of amazingly powerful magical artifact. Possibly even more powerful than..."

     He caught himself suddenly. Even more powerful than the Lifegiver of Kronosia, he'd been about to say. The artifact that provided all the moon city's food, water, air and gravity. Kronos! Panic gripped Thomas as he realised that the mind reading spells were still functioning, that all the wizards had overheard his thoughts about Kronos. His knowledge of the moon trogs and the observatory, the existence of which the Beltharans had forbidden him from revealing, on pain of being indicted as a traitor. Now all these wizards knew about it as well, and only the Gods alone knew how far the knowledge would spread. The Beltharans would find out! They would hunt him down and...

     "Easy now, easy," said Saturn, pushing him gently back down into the chair. "We already knew about Kronos. Who did you think the Beltharans turned to when they wanted another teleportation chamber installed?"

     "Another teleportation chamber?" said Thomas in relief. "What happened to the old one?"

     "It led to a chamber deep below Arnor. The heart of a teleportation network that stretched across the whole continent and beyond."

     "Grand Central," said Thomas, nodding.

     "At the end of the war, Arnor was destroyed by a massive explosion, so great that it left a crater five hundred yards across and a hundred yards deep. Grand Central, as you call it, was deeper than that, but the shock of the explosion pulverised the rock all around it, causing it to collapse. The teleportation chambers it contained were destroyed, and the one up on Kronos was useless without its twin. The Beltharans wanted the link re-established and turned to us to do it. It meant revealing the existence of the observatory to us, but what of that? Most of the nations of the world have magical weapons and defences created and installed by us. They know they can trust us not to reveal one nation's secrets to another. Trust like that, once lost, can never be regained.”

     Thomas nodded. With their ability to harness and wield amazing and powerful magical energies, it would be so easy for the common people to see wizards as enemies, to be hated and feared. So terrifyingly easy...

     More of the wizards were staring at Thomas now, their eyes wide and excited like old prospectors who'd suddenly discovered the motherlode glinting in the sun after years of grubbing in the dust. Thomas quailed under their collective gaze, having a very good idea of what it meant, and his fears were confirmed when Saturn moved to intercept them, spreading out his arms to hold them back.

     "Patience, my friends," he said, softly but firmly. "He needs to rest now, the strain of the spell has worn him out. Plenty of time tomorrow to repeat the experiment."

     And the day after that, thought Thomas wearily as a thumping headache began to develop behind his eyes. And the day after that... "Surely repeating the spell would only yield the same visions," he pleaded desperately. "Is there any point?"

     "The visions yielded by the Identify spell will always be centred on the throne, certainly," agreed Saturn, "but once the link has been established we can send other spells through it, to explore every part of the ship. One day, we may even learn to access the strange foreign magic directly, so that you'll no longer be necessary, but we've been trying to do this for months, so far with no luck."

     "So you'll be needing me for some time to come," said Thomas with a rueful grin.

     "Oh yes," said Saturn, slapping a hand on his shoulder. "You're important. You've just become the hottest property in the whole valley."

     "Hey, he's got a son, hasn't he?" exclaimed one of the other wizards suddenly. "Do you think..."

     "No!" cried Thomas emphatically. "He's only sixteen! Leave him alone!"

     "But if he's inherited your ability to sense the alien magic..."

     "It will be years before he has even the most rudimentary ability to sense even ordinary magic," pointed out Saturn, "and more years before he can cast an Identify spell. Forget about him."

     "It may be possible to cast a spell through him," persisted the old wizard with the small, glittery eyes, "enabling us to access his inherent abilities without the boy himself having to do anything. In effect, we'd be using him as a material component of the spell..."

     "No!" repeated Thomas, leaping to his feet and advancing on him, his hands clenched by his sides. "Leave him alone! You're not doing anything to my son!"

     "It's all right," said Saturn soothingly, with a warning look at the glittery eyed wizard. "We wouldn't dream of involving such a young child. Would we?"

     The other wizard gave a reluctant grunt of agreement and turned away, joining the other wizards who were still talking excitedly about what they'd seen.

     "Don't worry," said Saturn to Thomas. "I'll keep an eye on him. I won't let him try any funny tricks."

     "Thanks," said Thomas gratefully. "And I'll make myself available to you whenever you want me."

     "Deeply appreciated," said Saturn with a grin. "I don't think you have any real idea just what this breakthrough means to us. All these months we've been grubbing around in the dark, with no real idea what we were dealing with. We knew it was the remains of an artifact of some kind, but..." He shook his head in wonder.

     "Do you have any idea what it was?" asked Thomas. "What it was used for?"

     "Only guesses so far," replied the senior wizard. "More research will throw more light on it, we hope, but until then..."

     "And is this all secret? Am I allowed to tell anyone about it?"

     "We 're going to have to make an announcement very soon. To honour an agreement we have with the Kingdom of Belthar. Tell everyone to wait until then. It'll be simpler if the waters haven't been muddied by gossip and rumour. Until then, spend the rest of the day with Pondar Walton. It'll salve the old fool's wounded ego if you're still nominally working for him."

     He then walked away, as if suddenly eager to end the conversation. Thomas hesitated for a moment, uncertain what to do, but no- one was paying him any more attention and so he made his way towards the exit.

     As he went, he thought about the snatches of conversation he'd overheard. The wizards had a very good idea what it was they'd seen, he suspected. They already know what the throne's for. Or at least, they have some very strong suspicions. Suspicions that they want to keep to themselves for the time being. Why? The command chair, one of them had said. The source of the vessel's motive force. Vessel. And it had come from space. Vessel. Motive force. He shivered.