by Pam Uphoff
He let himself grin, since they couldn't see it. "You can carry your rifles as we drive, sling them and walk in armed and smelling of sweat and gunpowder, when we get there. Your co-workers will be green with envy." And you'll be on the news, looking like tough dudes.
They gave him rather shaky smiles, coming off the adrenaline.
"And if anyone asks you what Igor looks like, you shrug and say 'sort of ordinary, you know, brown hair, we thought he was just another suit getting in the way of a minor field exercise, until . . .' And then you can tell all the tall tales you can get away with."
A hover cam came zipping around the corner. He swatted it away. "Newsies, in case you were wondering why I'm still wearing the helmet. Let's go."
***
And since no one on staff had seen him with red hair since he was twenty, he kept the helmet on, and showed the kids where to dump the weaponry for cleaning, then led the way to the showers and locker rooms.
"Get cleaned up, go see the medics about those burns, then meet me back in the work room to clean the guns and turn them back in, and yes, you will hear me get reamed for losing a rifle on the battlefield."
He waved them off into the juniors' area and kept going to the teams' territory. Where he got sideways looks and snickers from the servants, as he finally lifted the helmet. "There's nothing wrong with red hair. It’s just a little noticeable, some of the places I get to."
Which evoked more snickers and he very definitely ignored the "Igor can't be that guy who murdered his uncle."
And speaking of coming down from adrenaline, what had he done to get that beaut of a bruise though a physical shield and his body armor. He picked up the chest plate. The internal crush zone was completely crushed on the left side. "Huh, been awhile since I've done that."
He hit the shower, then combed brown dye through his hair. Ignored more snickers.
At least it’s a darkish red, and I don’t have to dye my eyebrows.
Dressed in the casual not-quite-a-uniform the civilian staff adopted here, and went to clean guns.
The armsmaster glared. "Bad enough you lost a gun, but look at this armor! Do you have any idea how much this armor costs?"
Sergey and Edik stalled out in the door, looking from the armor to Axel. Ten-ten nudged them forward.
"Not the faintest, Mac. You'd think by now they'd only let us wear it in parades, wouldn't you?"
"Very funny." The old Cyborg wagged his finger. "And you'd better hope they find my rifle." He pointed at the screen. "See that! Bad enough you forgot to duck, the news cams caught you at it! You bring shame to your Team!"
He turned to look.
And sure enough, there he was up on the roof of the warehouse and a flash of something leaving a smoke trail . . . knocked spinning off his feet and rolling off the roof . . . "Was that a little rocket? It didn't explode . . ."
"Pure mass. Designed to penetrate this armor. If you weren't such a clever boy with your shields you'd be mulch. We lost five people." He sighed and named names.
Axel winced. People I know. People I work with. "What was Harris doing out there?"
"Ammo delivery. Well . . . the old guy always hated being retired from Teams."
"Damn." Axel sat and grabbed a rifle. "So, you two know how to do this? Demonstrate."
Ten-ten sat down and watched, grinning while Axel disassembled, cleaned and reassembled the two Cyborgs' rifles in less time than the youngsters each did one.
Ninety-two walked in, an arm in a sling, as they finished. A bottle in his cybernetic hand. He eyed the brown hair, then held the bottle out to Axel. "Doc Ermine said to tell you to drink it."
Axel grinned and took it. Just what I need. "Mind you, I'm only drinking this sludge under duress, not because I'm so depleted it tastes delicious."
Sergey nodded, uncertainly. "It tasted good for about three gulps, then . . ."
"Your body says when it’s had enough. That's how it works." Axel drained the bottle. "After today, the whole bottle's good."
The room filled up slowly, a lot of injuries. Murphy thumped down beside Axel. "Zilla's going to be out for a couple of weeks, Piggy for months. At least they're alive. And I'm damn glad you shot that AGC, one more would have been one too many. Damn them."
Mouse limped in, got lots of shoulder thumps, nods.
Lost his team leader and another guy. The mentalist they were working with, too.
"Catch and Doobie are out for weeks. Dunno where we'll find mentalists."
Axel blinked and looked around at Murph.
Who nodded. "We grabbed Newb on the way out, since you were looking a bit busy. Bloody moron. Sorry."
Mouse sighed. "I thought Whiz knew better. He had a bad idea and tried to control Fooey, and got them both killed."
"Shit . . ." Axel shook his head. "Did either of them have any real combat experience?"
"A few shoot outs with criminal gangs. They weren't either of them on the Exploration rotation." Murph growled. "I'd worked with Whiz for a year. Then I got my own team and got handed to this jumped up fool who looked like he was half the age and twice as snotty . . ." He glanced at Axel. "I may have been less than enthusiastic."
Axel grinned. "At least you didn't threaten to kill me."
Murph actually reddened. Laughs from the door, as Ape and Tiger walked in. Med tape, here and there.
Ape shook his head. "Murph would never do such a thing."
Tiger grinned. "I wasn't there. But rumor had it that that Junior Mentalist who thought he deserved a battle name was really bossy."
"Junior! Hey! I'm older than any of you! I had what? Ten years experience at that point?"
Ape nodded. "Fortunately it turned out that he was only verbally bossy, and actually had a clue or two."
"So we kept him." Murph grinned. "Never did hear who gave you that name."
Axel sighed. "Harris. My first run across with his squad, it was a first survey, and I was a sudden replacement. 'So,' he says, 'What jobs have you held up top?' And I'm like, 'Well, lab assistant during summer break.' And they all look at me. 'And how many times have you been on a mission Across?' and I'm like. 'One. Now.'
"I won't risk damaging your delicate sensibilities by repeating what he said. But we walked down the path and straight into a Tyrannosaurus which got a bit lively until I sliced its head off. Anyway, by the time Harris decided this was not a World we could sell to anyone but an insane big game hunter I was Igor the Lab Assistant."
Murphy started laughing. "Oh, damn. I'd forgotten how much he loved those antique movies. He forced me to watch every damned 'Frankenstein' movie ever made when I was an easily traumatized youngster."
Lots of nodding heads in the crowd. Including Axel's.
Ape shook his head. "Did you ever hear how . . ."
Sergey and Edik just sort of froze, and tried to stay unnoticed . . . Ninety-two and Ten-ten looked like they really were frozen, as stories about the three Cyborgs circled for a couple of hours, then the group just sort of drifted apart, and Axel hauled the four of them off for a late dinner.
"Don't forget this." He looked between Sergey and Edik. "Don't ever forget that we are all human, and we're fighting together to the same purpose. To keep our chunk of civilization alive and well. No matter its faults, and it's got plenty, it beats anarchy, and cross-dimensional wars. And you four did a damn good job today." Axel shrugged. "Well. Get a good night's sleep, if you can. You'll start feeling it by tomorrow."
And you'll have nightmares . . .
And I'll second guess myself. Should have done this, ought to have done that . . .
Damn you, Vladimir Vinogradov!
Chapter Eighteen
Does It Matter Anymore?
Thursday, November 22, 3738
"That's Red. I know it's him."
Vlad looked from the morning news coverage of the brief invasion, to his sister.
"Why do you think that?" Igor. Good Grief, Igor is not supposed to be real! That's like Baba Yaga or the Th
ree Bogatyrs just popping out into the real world.
"The way he moves." She glanced in the direction of the neighboring house. Completely out of sight behind the cliff. "Because he's a hero."
Mother rolled her eyes and delivered more biscuits.
Forty-one chuckled. "If that was him, it's no good expecting him to be home. He'll be Up Top doing after-action reports and whatnot all day. Possibly for days." He took the extra chair and grabbed a biscuit.
Smart man knows to always get here early to pick me up.
Vlad looked back at the TV where the News reporters were bouncing between fury over another World attempting a hostile takeover and glee at catching the almost mystical "Igor" in action.
Not to mention Igor taking on one side of the invasion and knocking out the portal, while it had taken two squads of the best military Cyborgs ever to stop the other side. At a cost of five lives and dozens of injuries
Mind you, there looked to be a lot more enemy soldiers on that side. And those man-portable tube weapons, some sort of rocket propelled munitions were nasty . . .
Vlad buttered one last biscuit, and reached for the honey . . . Honey. Wasn't there an article about how we imported all our honey, because there were not enough imported flowering plants to support bees here? I wonder if I can order . . . fruit trees from across, but then I'd have to hand pollinate . . . Damn, Axel's got me spooked.
He savored that last biscuit then pushed back from the table. "And I have another exciting day interviewing Vinogradov House staff." He eyed Forty-one, and nodded at the TV. "You're not getting pulled for crowd control?"
"Not yet. But I think everyone else is." The Cyborg glanced at the screen and grinned. "That whole district is going to be a zoo for a week. Much more relaxing talking to servants while the supercilious Lords and Ladies get huffy about even allowing us onto their premises."
"Maybe we should interview the Ladies while their husbands are away." And hopefully their running off thirty hours ago had nothing to do with the invasion. I ought to have had them followed.
They'd missed the opportunity. When the doormen whisked the doors open and intoned his title and name, the brothers turned away from their wives in unison.
Lord Andre frowned. "What? Are we back to an ordinary policeman, now? All the Alliance investigators got pulled out for that mess yesterday, so I thought we were rid of the lot of you."
Lord Nikoli stalked toward him. "It's nothing to do with us."
Vlad nodded. "Just finishing up a few details, then you can finally get on with funeral arrangements and so forth." At least the wives look happy to see them. And a maid innocently dusting in the background. "I need to get a few statements from the staff who served dinner, and I hope that will be all."
The lords' noses rose.
"Indeed?" Nikoli stepped up into his face. "I am certain you will find nothing. You need to finalize this ridiculous investigation and leave us to mourn." Leaning in . . .
Vlad braced himself against mental pressure. What the heck? Trying to force me to settle the case and leave them alone?
Andre looked around. "You! Girl! Stop stirring up the dust and take this policeman off to interview the maids."
Natasha bobbed her head and scurried to the inner corridor, gesturing to them to follow. "The stairs to the kitchen are down here . . ." She opened an unmarked door and clattered down to the landing. Stopped and looked back up as the door closed behind Forty-one.
She looked up at them, a frown creasing her forehead. "They showed up for dinner, wearing the same clothes they'd left in, but they'd been cleaned and pressed. Then they went up to their suites . . . I tried to listen in but they were pretty quiet."
"And then I helped serve at breakfast." She took a breath. "The Lords were harping at the ladies about slacking off and not teaching the children proper decorum and manners and had them all there. I mean, Vitoli's only eight months old! Of course he doesn't have good manners! Rosa and Maximilian are two, and they're picking it up fast, but they cried when they got yelled at and Vitoli started screaming and, and . . . I've never seen anything like it!"
Vlad scratched his chin. "Sounds like they got lectured on the proper place of Lords in a household."
"And applied it stupidly." Forty-one shook his head. "Even with a chip in his head, my father loved us all."
She took a deep breath. "And now the Ladies are all pleasant and dressed to show off, and well, praising them and . . . I think they're scared they'll get sold."
"That's a nasty thought." I know damn well what sort of person buys used wives . . . "I wouldn't think the Lords would go so far."
Natasha wrinkled her nose. "I don't even know which one's my father! And I don't want to know! I used to wish I had red hair, but, really, I'm glad Lord Axel isn't like the rest of the family."
Vlad eyed her. Yes, could be either twin, or the old Lord. He blinked and suppressed a smile as he realized that her three buddies and Axel were all close relatives, and . . . that he'd better get his mind off her big blue eyes and other extremely attractive assets, and back on the job.
"I never did hear how you four got exec plates."
"Oh, I, ahem, overheard Lord Axel in Mr. Solovsky's office, 'Oh a fiftieth birthday present? They need executive secretaries.' And Mr. Snobo . . . Solovsky said they were too expensive and who knows what mental compulsions and loyalties had been applied. Axel said but if you train them yourselves it's only thirty thousand, and here's these four kids coming up on eighteen . . . He insulted Pauli, said Barf and Dimitri would be good, but this girl His Lordship ought to send for testing, the government might want her for a spy."
Forty-one snickered. "He was right about that. But Pauli also got an exec plate?"
Natasha snickered. "Yep. Mr. Solovsky said he hoped Axel wasn't expecting such a gift, and Axel said only if his Dear Uncle thought giving him Pauli for an Exec was amusing. Actually he said inflicting. And it worked. Except for wanting me to be his spy . . . which kind of makes one think, now, doesn't it?"
"I suspect you'd have been entertaining a lot of his foreign partners."
"Ewww!" She shuddered. "So, who do you want to talk to?"
"I haven't a clue. Or rather, you'll do nicely. How many secret, or hidden doors are there around here? Who knows about them, and how do you recognize them? Could anyone who knew about them spy on Lord Vladimir?" He raised his brows at her.
Vehement head shake. "No. Lord Axel told me to never . . . but I already wouldn't . . . I know what he does to maids that annoy him . . . I . . . No. Never." Her voice had gotten a bit high and squeaky.
Vlad softened his voice. "What happened?"
She blinked, frowned. "Nothing? I . . . I didn't have a problem a few days ago, going over there. I totally forgot the terror I had always had at the very thought . . . And people did disappear. Was there a fear impression laid on it over there? That faded when His Lordship died?" She frowned up at him. "So why am I scared all over again?"
"I hope the Alliance types are just making sure everyone stays out of there . . . Do you know where Lord Axel is?"
"Not here." Now she grinned impishly. "He couldn't possibly be busy Up Top, now could he?"
Vlad sighed. "Personally, I prefer my heroes to stay in their books where they belong. Speaking of whom, maybe he put a new impression up to keep people like you and me from bumbling around and finding things."
Forty-one gave him a fishy look.
She bit her lip. "Well, who or what would you like to see?"
"How about a tour. We could start in the basement and work up."
The basement had high windows at ground level, and sank another twelve feet down, pierced periodically with concrete columns that he'd bet had a steel core. From the gleaming commercial-grade, and sized, kitchen and industrial laundry on the east side to an echoing empty gymnasium on the west, it completely reversed the ancient style of the upper floors.
They skipped two floors and started with the east end of the third.
A living room in the northeast corner, had a large ornate door out to a corridor to a wide flight of mahogany stairs . . . which should lead down past the old council hall, unless he was turned around again. Dust covers on all the furniture. It was open to the next room with a small dining table, then down the inner racetrack past a large office, a large library, a large bedroom, two empty rooms, and a huge corner suite, and around the corner, a very feminine looking parlor and a door in the wall built to close off the inner hall on this side of the building.
"I never heard about other children."
She shook her head. "The Lady Doctor was very old when they married and had Axel a year later. At least, that's what everyone says. And Lord Mitchel was over a hundred and he'd had rejuv, so everyone got snotty about the baby not really being his until the genescans came back. Then they had to shut up."
"And they're still snotty because his mother was half-Native?"
"Yep. So these rooms are all empty, and we can take these stairs up to the fourth floor, which is a little bit attic-like except for the solarium."
One of the stair doors let them out into . . a green house. Glass roof and windows, plants in a wild variety of pots and boxes, winding trails through it . . ."
"I don't think the current lords even know this is up here. It's ours."
A little old man peered around at them, a pitcher in one hand. He frowned a bit uncertainly at Vlad, then went back to sticking his finger in the dirt of the pots, and occasionally watering them.