by Pam Uphoff
A week later, Henrik had stubble all over his scalp, and all four had joined the women in on grid classes. Exercise was walking half a mile to Old Fedya’s orchard and him walking back with them for his daily check. The old guy was fit and smart, now. And still dedicated to his trees.
***
“It’s like there’s this . . . month, maybe, where I wandered around in a daze doing things I was told to do. Then it was gone, and the Doc says it was really twenty years.” Iouri looked in the mirror and shook his head. “I don’t think I look like I’m almost forty.”
Axel nodded. “Yeah, you look more like barely thirty.” That anti-aging effect that Solovsky noticed! “And you’re planning something?”
Io nodded at the paper sketch. “I’m taking a class on architectural drafting, and we’re supposed to design a house and make all the drawings, you know, structural, plumbing, electrical, heating and cooling . . . I’m trying to design a house.”
Pasha nodded. “We all are. But we don’t want them to look anything like Vinogradov House.”
Axel laughed. “God forbid! That place was barely usable as an office building. Umm, if you need some ideas, these builders have house plans on line . . . I’ll see if there are any model homes open, we could take a tour . . .”
Isay and Henrik looked interested, but Henrik shook his head. “I don’t dare go anywhere with daily doses of the fun stuff. The Doc has to treat my hangover every morning. Then not dose me until late, so I’m mostly functional during the day.”
Which led to four trips to see model homes, the houses under construction, apartments being built, with the guys telling Axel all about what he was seeing and why it was there, a three story office building and the overseer asking if they were available for hire . . .
As far as Axel could tell, no one at Vinogradov House—other than the other servants—noticed three workers walking out to catch the bus every morning.
Henrik’s posts fell off, and with a couple of stitches to help the scalp heal, he was . . . normal wasn’t quite the word. “I can close my eyes and see the inbetween.”
With hair, no one would recognize him, and a bit of hacking the Registry Bureau computers Up Top and he had ID and a history, including passing a challenge, and Lord Henrik Leitz was hired as an assistant to Dr. Borodin.
***
Axel created a temporary worker company and turned it over to Natasha to find jobs for people as they “graduated” from the Rehab Center. And training, or the local college.
Dr. Borodin had two quads ready to go, and the Local Portal Authorities, nursing their oldest Portal maker along, manned up and approved his replacement with an experimental group.
"Replace me?" The old man blinked around the room, head flopping on atrophied muscles. "There's no need to condemn a youngster to this hell. I can take it."
Axel shook his head. "There's new tech. We've got two quads of youngsters who can work together with helmets. Open portals for eight hours, then take off the helmets and go home. The second quad works the next shift and then, likewise heads home. And they're all just sixes through eights on the dimensionality scale."
He stepped back as the orderlies with the gurney moved in. "So, Bruno, you get to retire. After some rehab, mind you. But you're off the hook and Ivan will be getting out in about a month when we have the next quads trained up and ready to take over."
"I withdraw my objections. Holy cow . . . seems like I was in there forever."
"Thirty years." Axel shivered. He's my age, and looks double it. Well, this will be a challenge for Dr. Solovsky, and his crew of zivvy-free servants.
***
Then he had to pony up and get a group of the zivvy free graduates of the Center places to live, near their work.
And then explain bank accounts and paying bills.
Lady Anastaciya and Lady Veronica were delighted to have their expenses dropping, and their seamstresses were so clever . . .
***
Axel bit the bullet, and for the Twins’ almost simultaneous birthdays rented an off-season resort up north by the Sicilian Glacier. Only a matter of forty miles, and the weather cooperated with brisk temperatures and bright sunlight, rather than the howling storms coming off the glacier that was the winter norm.
Nine in the evening through two in the morning, a string quartet, dancing, running buffets, two birthday cakes. One before midnight for Andre, one after midnight for Nikoli.
Six weeks after the Governor’s speech, Axel was a little surprised anyone came.
Axel glanced over at Pauli, playing waiter and trouble shooter. “I’m trying really hard to not be gratified that so many people are still afraid to snub the Vinogradovs.”
A snicker. “H-half of them came so they could introduce sisters, daughters, and granddaughters to you.”
“I refuse to consider that.”
“And h-here comes another.” Pauli stepped away balancing a tray of Champagne flutes like an expert.
Other than that, it was a good party.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Stuttgart
Monday, Feb 25, 3739
"Nine people, however unarmed, are going to get an instant response, and not a friendly one." Axel looked at the group. "I can keep up a shield for as long as necessary, which hopefully will only be as long as it takes Lord Gunter to contact the President's security and make sure, if there is a substitute, that he's kept away from your president until your people have convinced themselves of who is whom."
Lord Gunter blinked.
"What time of day are we most likely to find them separated?"
"Early morning. My wife does expect me home most nights." The man's face stiffened suddenly.
Just started worrying about his wife and children.
"Right, and your capital is located in . . . London? So there won't be much of a time differential. If we go Across at two or three in the morning, we'll have time to either get the security forces to alert presidential security, or if we aren't immediately noticed, contact them yourself."
A firm nod. A thoughtful look. "And the sooner, the better." Gunter turned to Lord Marlin Aslanov. "Are you sure you want to come immediately? I had not considered the danger to all of you."
Lord Marlin nodded. "If we aren't safe with your escort, there's no other way to do this."
His assistant Lord Evgeny Gorky looked determined. "We're packed and ready."
With two exec secretaries and two manservants. And money. Stuttgart is still in easy touch with the home world, so all our cash cards will be valid there. Not to mention the Bank of the Three Hundred Certificate of Funds, sufficient to buy a mansion to act as our Embassy and house these guys.
In theory, I will escort a return delegation to Siberia Max. And I can only hope that their instructions are benign.
The two Germans exchanged glances and nods.
Lord Gunter looked back at the Boss. "Yes, well, then, the sooner the better. A glance at his watch. "In six hours?"
***
Axel bagged a three hour nap, then dressed in his most formal suit—the full up high-necked, thigh length jacket with gold embroidery on black velvet, black pants, slim enough to slide into the polished leather knee-high boots. Belt, but the saber, alas, was again being left behind.
The red ribbon and medallion of a man high in the line of succession for his family seat on the Three Hundred had the Germans staring.
"Shouldn't surprise me." Von Mansfeld muttered.
Axel shrugged. "Out here in the far reaches of tier five, we just do whatever's needed at whatever level of government needs something done."
"And you are Vinogradov . . . ?"
"Twenty-nine."
A faint choking noise from somewhere in the background.
"I don't advertise it." He touched the medallion.
Because when you're down in the hundreds, people keep having kids and grandkids, and every time they count things again, you're further removed. But if you're unlucky enough to be less
than a hundred, most of the people ahead of you are old and done with parenting and grandchildren have either passed their challenge, or not. And getting old enough to die, even with rejuv treatments.
And now? God only knows where I stand, between the Plague and the violence.
And with luck, it'll all fall apart, and I'll never have to be a politician.
He grabbed the briefcase that was a mobile office, the black canvas tote with his vacuum packed wardrobe, both completely stripped of weaponry, and led the way to the portal room. They all donned the baggy spatter cloth overalls. Not needed, in his case, but why advertise that?
A techie walked up suppressing a smile as he glanced at Axel's hair, and handed over a contraption the size of a shoe. A large shoe.
"We didn't have time to small it down. But it ought to work on Stuttgart . . . or anywhere else. And not be traceable. Probably ought to be inside your spatter suit."
"Thanks, Mickey."
The young man looked startled to have been recognized and scuttled away.
Boleslav paused, helmet in the air over his head. :: You going to watch, and point us the right way? ::
:: Might keep you guys from dropping us off at the sewage treatment plant. ::
A mental grin as the young man put the helmet on and snugged it down.
Axel walked back to the group, tucking the phone into his spatter suit, forming an awkward lump, threatening to slide down.
The quad was revving up power, experienced, now, reaching out. Axel closed his eyes as the quad sank into the fizzy mess and started picking out markers. Beacons. And the writhing lines of the Portals.
:: There's less every time. The higher tiers are starting to hide. ::
A bright collection . . . :: German on that side, Russian here, and Japanese there. ::
Deeper into the collection. :: Home. Germans start with six Tier Two Worlds. Checking this one up there on . . . no, London is completely different. ::
A hard pull away. Settling down. Easing toward the next German World . . . :: London looks about right. Now there ought to be four portal facilities around the north side . . . I think we've got it. ::
Axel eased a bit closer mentally. :: The Presidential palace should be . . . there . . . and their security headquarters . . . there. Attach there. ::
He opened his eyes and waved in the group. "Just remember. Run and jump through, don't stop, keep going and curve off to the side."
He pulled the hood over his head, adjusted the eye slits, and turned as the portal opened. And led the way. A twist as he passed through the Portal and dropped a couple of feet to the ground. Threw out a nice big dome shield to keep them safe for a bit. He stepped to the side and turned back, to grab a stumbling man and spin him out of the way. The next at least kept going for a few steps before he crashed. The third guy must have been watching as he landed and jigged to the other side. Next two came together, as the first hesitated and the second tackled him and carried him through. The last three jumped through and got grabbed to keep them on their feet.
Axel turned then, peeling out of his spattersuit and facing the armed men rushing down the steps. He put a little shine in his dome shield as he stepped up to it. No need for them to find it by running headlong into it.
Several shots, two laser hits and the man in command yelled to cease fire. He stalked up to the dome and eyed Axel.
"Excuse me, is this Tier Two Stuttgart?"
"Yesss . . ." The man was eying the medallion and very Russian outfit. Axel stepped back and looked through the Portal. Gave the Boss a thumbs up. The portal swirled closed.
"Six weeks ago, while retrieving some kidnapped citizens of our world, we also freed two high ranking citizens of yours. They need to contact their people and a small diplomatic contingent from our world has come along to discuss these raids with your government. If I could borrow a phone . . ." He stopped as the officer's gaze had gone beyond him, his eyes widening.
"Lord Gunter!" Disbelief in his voice. "Lord Hans?"
Lord Gunter grunted. "Well. I didn't expect to fall into your lap, General. We were kidnapped . . . almost three months ago. Lord Axel Vinogradov here, rescued us. The men he was searching for had been replaced by look-alikes. Have I been . . . I see by your expression that we have. We came at this ghastly hour in hopes of arriving when the President was away from a possible impostor and . . . now you get to sort us all out, with, please, an extra guard on the President, because Budapest Reborn has . . . made a very hostile move against us."
The General had been tapping at his phone the whole time and now turned away to speak into it.
He turned back and eyed Axel. "Where are you from?"
"Tier Five Siberia Max."
A frown. "I am not acquainted with it."
"We're a small, sanctioned experimental world. Budapest Reborn assumed we had piles of zivvy sitting around. When we found a beacon, we waited for the owners to open a portal to it. We explained that we don't do those sorts of experiments—no one but the Citadel does. Clearly they didn't believe us, as they proceeded with their plans." Axel shrugged. "While rescuing these Lords as well as our own, we . . . just happened to collect their only Portalmaker on the way out."
The General paused . . . "I see. That's really interesting."
"Yes. But no doubt they have more Portalmakers in the pipeline, so I doubt it'll last very long." Axel shrugged. "And hoping they'll leave us alone now is not really a good defense. Hence the diplomats."
The General picked up his phone again, this time to listen. "Right. I'll send them right in."
He turned his head a bit to address the Germans. "I apologize, Lord Gunter . . ."
"But I'm going to be examined like nothing I've ever experienced? I not only expected it, I welcome it." He put a hand to his head. "As a way of demoralizing a prisoner . . . convincing them they've been chipped is hard to beat, and I want to be examined completely."
And it was complete.
The only thing he suggested was that they have their Office of the Inquisition examine the Medallion. "They get testy when anyone but them does anything with one of these."
Otherwise he, personally, and everything he'd brought with him was thoroughly examined. When he finally got his clothes back he put on an ordinary suit that was closer to German standard than Russian, and happily packed the damned formal suit and boots away. Fortunately the canvas tote was expandable.
And then started talking to their security people.
"My job here is pretty well done. I was tasked with keeping everyone alive long enough to talk to people, and get the warning out about Budapest Reborn's interest in your world, and the possibility of ringers close to your President."
Axel frowned. "Actually . . . I don't know how well information is being disseminated these days. Have you gotten the word about the Plague being a deliberate poison being introduced to the water supply of large cities?" They stiffened. "It is not person-to-person contagious. If it hits here . . . Has it? Didn't think so. If it shows up, evacuate the cities affected, tell them to not bring along any water—or other beverages from home. Trace and destroy any beverage shipments that come from any affected area. And treat the water system with salt water brine."
He talked his way through the entire interaction with Budapest Reborn, starting with the finding of the first beacon. They had trouble keeping straight faces over the incident with the sick cattle. And then he circled back to the start with them piecing together, mostly from the financial examination, how the whole attack had been underway for years before there had been any action. And that finding, recruiting, and training the ringers had that long a history, and the substitutions only made quite late in the game.
He left them quite appalled, and they let him have a computer with serious limitations. The limitations did not include real estate sites, and he hunted through various practical sorts of places for a Trade Delegation, which were immediately turned down, switched to mansions in the right part of the city and re
commended three possible buildings that appeared to be usefully located for embassies.
Four days later he escorted a Stuttgartian delegation the other direction and turned them over to the Governor.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Angry Council
Wednesday, Feb 27, 3739
"I fail altogether to understand where anyone can get to on Siberia Max that he can't at least call me in Four Damned Days!"
Natasha turned back to her dusting . . . Councilman Petrov is really pissed. And poor Andre . . .
"Look, Axel's a bachelor. He's had an all-day reaming—in public—had his whole life examined—in public—and his finances examined—in—public." Lord Andre shrugged. "He's either hiding . . . or, more likely, shacked up with a pretty woman with her eyes locked onto his net worth."
"Yeah." Nikoli nodded. "He handled your crap really well, and flashed a whole lot of money. The women have got to be swarming him. And you know it."
Petrov growled. "You two are idiots, and I want the man to call me back Real Soon."
"He'll show up when he wants to, he always does." Andre snorted. "Usually insufferably smug, occasionally with a hangover, or like he pulled a muscle."
"Probably in bed." Nikoli added.
Petrov turned and stalked out, looking pissed.
Andre sighed. "I wonder what Axel actually does?"
"And how many women are involved."
Natasha retreated to an empty room and closed the door before she started laughing.
They were perfect . . . and probably purely by accident. They can't possibly have an inkling that Axel is Igor, can they?
And was I ever off about what he did while he was away for days, weeks, or a couple of times, for months.