demon cam vs the clam planet
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"I'll do it," Elarron says cheerfully. Off he goes.

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"I'm assuming you'd be slightly more urgent about the entire thing if attacks from the evil aliens were literally constant instead of periodic waves."

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"I'm sure someone is fighting at this very moment, but you wanted an audience with the king and we are proceeding with all haste to get you one."

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"I'm more likely to be convinced by flying out to meet some evil aliens and having them shoot at me and not respond to attempts at parley, but maybe the audience with the king is easier to get, I don't know that I want to try operating a shuttle in this magic clamshell planet... What diplomatic efforts were there exactly that failed?"

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"I don't have the histories on hand - how thoroughly would I need to specify one before you could conjure it? - but the gist is that anyone who tries to talk to the Enemy is shot at and anyone who surrenders to the Enemy is killed."

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"Title and author, sometimes I can make do with other amounts of information but 'topic' won't work unless I just produce everything published on this planet ever and narrow it down from there. Less impossible than it seems, still not a good use of an afternoon if you can improve on it."

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"Hm. Century of War, by Soroverai Akarian? If you feel like a little light reading while Elarron's—" He tilts his head slightly, ears adjusting to catch some distant sound. "Never mind, he's back already."

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"With Grandfather," Inlaith contributes.

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"...Is there somewhere I can dry off and change? It's getting to the point where I'm less willing to have these conversations damp and in my swim trunks."

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"There's a bathroom across the hall."

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Cam gets carefully to his feet, goes to the bathroom, and comes out quite dry and wearing jeans and shoes. Still no shirt. If nobody was complaining before they will have to use their words now.

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When he emerges, Elarron is approaching down the hall, trailing a man of some indeterminate adult age who doesn't give a strong impression of being old enough to be anyone's grandfather. He has a moderate family resemblance to the triplets and a pair of silver-accented dark brown bat wings.

"I hear you might be able to save the world," he says to Cam.
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"I hear this too! It is an exciting opportunity of which I will delightedly take advantage as soon as I'm sure that I happened to land among the good guys instead of just some guys."

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Possibly-Grandfather snorts slightly.

"My name is Faidre Kevarsin Tarnedrae. I can bring you to see the king."
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"Cool."

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He glances down at Elarron and adds, "I'm sure the boys will find a way to come along whether I like it or not."

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"Hey, a lot of people could get their wings on this one," says Elarron. Smugly.

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"No harm in taking you."

And he turns and leads the way out of the building. The triplets follow like ducklings.
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Cam looks around curiously as he accompanies them.

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The architecture is a bit odd in some hard-to-define way. Windows are tall and narrow; stairs wind in broad spirals around open central spaces; ceilings are high, lighting dim.

It doesn't get really weird until they exit the building, though.

The sky is green.

Well, debatably.

The majority of the visible area above the unsettlingly high and jagged horizon is taken up by a vast central tangle of unfamiliar vegetation, greyed by distance. Off to one side, a diagonal slash of brilliant golden light stretches across the gap between the two halves of the planet's shell, mirrored by an identical line precisely opposite it, although the latter is partly obscured by an outflung arm of the floating jungle. Near the first golden line stands a fainter vertical bar of silver light, less striking but still plainly visible; the place where its twin should be is more firmly obscured. Beyond the jungle, on the other half of the shell, faint patches of light may or may not indicate the presence of civilization.

Faidre Kevarsin takes no notice of any of this, only leads everyone away from the building and down a broad paved path. Outdoor lighting is sparse and dim. All the Aluvai seem totally at home in these conditions, but Cam might like some form of vision enhancement.
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"What are those lines in the - planetary gap?" Cam asks. "Also, how antisocial would it be to make myself a flashlight?"

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"You'll annoy the surface-dwellers if you insist on shining light around," says Faidre. "What lines? The sun-circle and moon-circle?"

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"Perhaps that is what those lines are; I did not know and therefore cannot confirm your suggestion." Cam produces a pair of goggles and thereafter navigates less haphazardly.

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"The sun and moon travel on circular paths around the planet; those lines mark their course," says Inlaith. "Do you not have a sun or moon where you're from?"

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"I reiterate that your physics are weird. Suns and moons are things! But they are not monorails."

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