Code Name Igor

by Pam Uphoff

  Then he turned back to the east, found a vendo for a snack and a cheap watch.

  Five o'clock. Traffic will start building up soon, and I won't be so conspicuous if I hire a cab.

  Speaking of conspicuous . . . that other man, staring out over the drop to a concrete floored flood control channel. Quite dangerously deep . . .

  As the stranger stepped on the rail, Axel grabbed his arm and hauled him back.

  "Enough people are going to die in the next few weeks. Don't help the damned Stutts." Axel eyed the man. Limp, hopeless, has had more than he can deal with. "Do you have a car? Good. Let's go for a drive. And you can tell me why you want to kill yourself."

  Lord Afanasiy Dryagin's son had insisted on being Presented. "He said he'd rather be dead than chipped. And then, and then, this fevered Cyborg beat the hell out of him, but didn't kill him. So they chipped him. Things have been awful since. Then I got fired."

  Tears. "And yesterday Anya got the diagnosis. Pancreatic cancer."

  Axel nodded. "I remember that horrible day my father told me he had cancer. Already metastasized. He said he had a few months and got his affairs in order. He only had weeks."

  They drove on down Canal Street for a few blocks. "Turn left here." They were headed now toward the big old houses. A neighborhood he was familiar with. "Turn right, and right into the parking lot."

  He turned and looked at the man. "Wait for me. I'm going to get some wine and put some . . . well, call them granny spells if you wish. But they will help. Wait for me."

  Two bottles of cheap screw-top wine, two four packs, ditto. Paid for it with one of the doctor's cash cards. Raised his brows at the balance. The Doc didn't believe in carrying much cash.

  He slid the seat of the car as far back as it would go, and started opening bottles.

  "Head right. Now listen to me. The specific things I'm going to add to this wine aren't illegal. But there's hundreds of them. There's things for cancer, flu, meningitis, malaria . . . an aphrodisiac . . . but somehow, the whole combined effect attacks the zivvy wires."

  His head hit the dashboard as Afanasiy hit the brakes too hard. Axel grabbed bottles to keep them upright and lifted his head for a quick look. Good, just startled him.

  "Now this is important! Half a glass for seven days. Then teetotal for three weeks. That dissolves the wires but leaves the chip in working order, so it reads as working. Any longer, and it starts dissolving the chip, and it'll read as defective and raise all sorts of questions. Twenty days, and the chip is gone. And that is very, very, definitely illegal." He finished anointing the last bottle and started screwing on caps.

  "I don't know about your wife, how many doses will destroy a cancer. But if you aren't afraid of her mentalist abilities, do the same seven days then teetotal. Hell, take some yourself. Then for money? This is a von Neumanns. Drip a little into another bottle and it'll take it over. Go black market. Or sell it on the grid and see how long you can survive. Definitely give it to your friends." Axle pointed. "Drop me at the corner and go home."

  The man pulled over. "Who are you?"

  "Igor." Axel grinned and got out. Took his old bottle and the four packs with him.

  He circled a few blocks, ducked into a public park and wound back into a quiet grotto, where a man sat cross-legged on the cold ground.

  "Not even a pad? What do you do when it's raining?"

  "Sleep in and go straight to the office." The Boss, otherwise High Mentalist Mikhail Rasputin, Director of Imperial Intel on Siberia Max, looked around. "Grigory told me you'd be fine. Did you also keep a sample of the . . . other item?"

  "No. That stuff's scary."

  A snort. "Should I ask what you're planning to do?"

  "Well, we'll never get rid of the Stutts until we destroy their portals, so I'll handle that. But before I go, is there anything I need to do here? Are they moving on anyone else?"

  "Igor the Kidnapper of Portalmakers strikes again." A sigh. "Grigory sent his family off to Regulus. The 'Emergency Council' troops tried to stop them, and Murphy blocked them . . . I am concerned what they may do. Colonel Lehr, the head of that council has asked for my kill switch controls."

  "And your family, any problems with your guards?"

  "They've been augmented. 'To be sure of their safety in these dangerous times.' Stuttgart Cyborgs. Four per shift, coming in from the fair grounds that they've taken over."

  "Hmm, and you guys like to camp. A bit chilly, but it’ll be nicer to the south. They might like to be ready to leave soon." He set down one four pack. "It's a huge soup of every healing spell I've ever learned, and others that are new to me. In combination, they dissolve the zivvy wires. And it's a von Neumann. A few drips in wine and it will take it over in seconds. For a Cyborg, half a cup a day for three days, and they'll gain a lot of volition, get hard to control. Servant chips, seven days to remove the wires, no alcohol for three weeks to turn it off so it doesn't damage the chip, or this stuff for twenty to completely dissolve the chip. I suspect wives are the same, but haven't experimented."

  The Boss eyed him thoughtfully.

  "Don't know about the Military Leader types. I doubt it'll protect them from the kill switch. But Murph, that bad boy, why don't you punish him . . . it's too late today . . . tomorrow, by making him run the west trail all the way down to the boardwalk and back. And anyone else you think needs a bit of extra discipline."

  "Indeed, that sounds like a good reminder of the importance of following orders." He paused. "And Lilia did say she was looking forward to camping . Day after tomorrow would be good."

  "Should work." Axel glanced at his new watch. "You need to keep to your schedule."

  "Yes. Be careful dammit . . . No. Be successful."

  "Aren't I always?"

  "No. You know my number, if there's an emergency." The Boss stood up, as flexible as he'd been when Axel first met him. Over half a century of experience as something similar to a Team Mentalist, sent from Home to run all the Imperial operations here. He scooped up the four pack and walked away.

  Axel tucked his remaining four pack into his gym bag and headed the other direction. Half a mile away, with traffic building up, he flagged down a taxi and took it to a store in the south, and walked from there.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Danger Rangers

  Sunday, December 8, 3739

  Natasha was clenching the arms of her chair to stop them from shaking. Or throwing something through the screen of the TV.

  Barf, Dimitri, and Pauli were all exuding waves of anger.

  "We need more information." Natasha cleared her throat to get the snarl out of it. "Pauli? Can you find out where the Stutts are headquartered, and hack them? And a line into the police wouldn't hurt."

  She bit her lip. I will neither scream, nor cry. "And we don't phone anyone."

  Barf looked over, nodding. "Because the Stutties have probably got your cute cop tapped and will trace any suspicious calls."

  Pauli got out a pad of paper and started making a list. "F-first, we're g-going to assume he has a v-very good g-grow-in, and can function. We'll n-need to stay near and g-give him a m-mental shield, so no one can control h-him. N-now, wh-what tools, weapons, equipment, c-clothes and even more disguises can we g-get for h-him. We've got our wigs, and a selection of his clothes. What m-more do we n-need?"

  "But we don't know where he is!" She took a deep breath, and stopped.

  "He knows where we are." Dimitri turned his back on the TV and walked back to the work table. His big wicked-looking Christmas rifle was sitting up on its bipod. "I wish I'd had more range time."

  Natasha looked around at the vehicles. The box truck was no surprise. Lord Axel had obviously driven it here after he'd moved the trees. The car . . . a big all-terrain vehicle was a surprise. It had been here when she arrived.

  "They're both registered to AIV Enterprises." Pauli shrugged. "The ATV was registered the day after AIV was incorporated. The box truck, last week. The day after we moved e
verything."

  "I wish one of them was less conspicuous. I'd drive around looking for Axel, trying to get here." Nastaya eyed the old truck, and shook her head. "We need a popular make in a common color. One or two years old. Utterly unremarkable."

  Barf nodded. "At least it's warmed back up. We don't have to worry about him freezing out there."

  "Now. It was snowing and the wind . . ." Natasha gulped. "When he escaped." He will be all right! I know how horrible those first days were, but . . .

  A rattle, a tapping at the front door. They grabbed weapons . . . "Let me get it, I look less threatening . . ."

  A tall man, blond hair, the rest obscured by the frosty patterned appliques they'd stuck on the glass to keep anyone from seeing in . . .

  Vlad doesn't know where we are . . . A faint voice through the glass. "Have you heard the word of our Lord Jesus . . ."

  She flipped the locks off, tore the door open, grabbed and hauled Axel in.

  And sort of got half squashed as they gang hugged him.

  Not the way we should be treating our Owner!

  A muffled voice. "I'm glad to see you guys too! But I do need to breathe!"

  And I hadn't realized that Barf and Dimitri were both taller than he is.

  She let him go and elbowed Pauli back a bit to get out of his all-inclusive hug. Shut the door and locked it.

  Lord Axel grinned. "So, you guys got any food? I skipped breakfast."

  "What happened to you?" Nastsya shooed the boys out of the way, "Dimitri, move your gun! Pauli, zap something. Barf, keep your eye on him and don't let him get away without us to guard him."

  "Oh, now. I suspect I can find much more interesting things for you four to do than baby sit me!"

  The boys all grinned, of course.

  Natasha growled. And grabbed a soda from the fridge and plunked it down in front of him. "And that's a horrible wig!"

  "It was all Dina had."

  "Dina? All right. Can we have the story from the start? The news says you've been chipped!"

  "Well . . . they moved faster than I'd expected. And may I say I am delighted that you four got out of Vinogradov House? I was ambushed in a grocery store, double stunned, and woke up in the recovery room . . ."

  And he perfectly calmly told them all about escaping during that horribly disoriented first day that she remembered so well. About Dina in disguise just walking out of the snowstorm and chattering him past the Stutts waiting in ambush at his house and taking him to hers.

  He pulled a wine bottle and four-pack of splits out of his gym bag and set them on the table. And between bites talked casually about spying on the Rebels on "Someotherworld," and acquiring samples of the Plague and a substance that removed zivvy wires from the brain.

  They all swapped their boggled gazes from him, to the wine and back.

  "This is the zivvy dissolver. You four need to be very careful and handle it with gloves. If you wish to get rid of your executive plates, you probably can. But please wait until this invasion has been dealt with."

  Pauli eyed the Lord. "Wh-what if any of us had g-gotten servant chips? You n-never undid anyone else."

  "I only got this about a week before they hauled you guys off to be chipped. Before that I had no options. I . . . had indigestion arguing with myself about dosing you four, if my ploy to get you executive chips failed.

  "Now I've got an experimental permit, and I took a few of the bad grow-ins at Vinogradov House out to the Rehab Center, before all this came up." He finished the hot wrap and chased a few crumbs around the plate.

  Pauli snatched the plate, and headed back to the freezer.

  "So, I had a little at the cliff house, and the next door neighbor's daughter, who had a horrible grow-in, and a fixation on a fictional hero with red hair, managed to get into the house and drank some. Dina's been improving ever since. And . . . planned out how to get me past the guards, and carried it out flawlessly."

  "I spent the night at their house. The Stutts stormed the neighborhood and searched everywhere, totally missing me, hiding behind the pink shoes and a long skirt. So I spent yesterday and most of last night sleeping, eating, and drinking this stuff." He started in on the second hot wrap.

  Natasha squirmed, not wanting to ask.

  Lord Axel's eyes gleamed and the corners of his mouth turned up. "I talked to Senior Detective Gagarin last night, they'll all be lying low. And perhaps I can get more information out of the police than the news reports. This morning I talked to my boss, and learned a few things and will be arranging a few things, before I head to Stuttgart to sabotage their portals."

  His grin widened. "What? Was I supposed to hide until the boogiemen went away? We have to take away their ability to import as many troops as they want, and we need to do it before we start giving them reasons to want a lot of troops."

  Natasha thumped down in a chair, and stared at him in horror. "But . . . you said seven days to get rid of the wires?"

  "Yes. I'll take the stuff with me, and keep drinking it. I simply can't wait much longer. These people have no restraints on their actions."

  Pauli reached and peeled his blond wig off. "W-we'll get you fixed up with b-better wigs, disguises, IDs, and b-backstories. H-how would you like to be the unfamous artist M-max Ignatov?"

  "Artist . . . Well . . . I did have painting lessons, but it's been . . . over thirty years since I've wielded a paintbrush of that sort."

  They all grinned.

  "We've got all the supplies you'll need," Dimitri grinned.

  Barf nodded. "We thought about trying to paint something, so you had something to show, but none of us had a clue."

  "Good God. An artist." Axel started grinning. "That is going to work really well, now that I think about it."

  "Now, Pauli, I'm going to need some special equipment installed in the ATV . . ."

  ***

  Five in the freezing morning, and she was sitting on a bench, bundled up in her heaviest coat, armed to the teeth and pretending to read.

  Lord Max Ignatov had his easel set up, and was swiping away at it, palette in hand. Black turtle-neck shirt, baggy tan pants, black wig topped off with a beret.

  He is a walking stereotype. And he ought to be freezing.

  She startled as two Cyborgs ran into the little plaza by the boardwalk. Utterly silent apart from their wheezing.

  "Oh Gawd, don't tell me the boardwalk has become trendy!"

  "Max" turned, brush and eyebrows raised. "Out of shape and rude. No wonder they don't let you out without me."

  They both pounced, grabbing him, and dropping him suddenly as they heard the click of the safeties coming off of her pistols.

  "Friends! Friends! No shooting friends allowed. Natasha, the next time you draw on a Cyborg, you'd better have your energy shields up already!"

  The biggest Cyborg started laughing. "How the hell did you . . . and with a pretty bodyguard?"

  "Do you have a private Army?" The second Cyborg was still eyeing her.

  She set the safeties and holstered the guns. Picked up the book, opened it to a random page and delicately turned to the next.

  "No, just a few very talented people. And yes, she can shoot with both guns at once and hit two different targets."

  "Tasha, the big one is Ape, the bigger one is Murphy. You sort of met in Vinogradov House. You may trust them completely."

  Murphy looked down at Lord Axel. "And now we see why this punishment run."

  "Yes. Sorry about that. So, you may admire my brilliant painting while we talk about a substance I just happened to pick up late last summer . . . elsewhere . . . which dissolves zivvy wires, and if taken long enough will even dissolve chips. How it affects Cyborgs long term is unknown, but the way the Enemy and Rebels on wherever-that-was kicked our asses was simple. They'd get the Plague—more of a poison, it's not person to person contagious—into the officers' water supply, and the zivvy dissolver into the cyborged native soldiers mess . . . and three days later, our army was suddenly
their army."

  "Under our current circumstances, the zivvy dissolver is going to be real handy for keeping the Stutts from just taking our guys. The problem is that I have no idea how this stuff will affect a kill switch."

  They glanced at each other.

  "There's a possibility that it could even trigger it. Well . . . being the curious sort, I have previously investigated disarming or removing the poison capsule, but I have no idea if I could actually do it."

  Another glance between them. And a chorus. "Volunteering!"

  "Guys . . . I wouldn't even suggest this if Colonel Lehr hadn't asked the Boss for the controls."

  Murph nodded. "I was there. He was really steamed that the Inquisitor's family escaped."

  Ape elbowed him. "He means, 'took a vacation to Regulus.' Really Murph, you know better than to malign those vicious assholes."

  Murph sighed, shook his head. "That's me, always saying the wrong thing. So get to work, Dr. Igor."

  From Tasha's Point of view, the Cyborg just sat on the bench while Axel put his hand on his skull plate for a moment, then handed Murph one of the wine bottles. "Small sip."

  "Whoo!"

  "Yeah, there's going to be a huge black market in this stuff. Now hold still."

  She could see the power, but not what he was doing with the little tools he pulled out of a pocket. Prying something? Unscrewing something, definitely, and pulling something out after the screw that was wrapped up in a tiny physical shield.

  The three of them examined it. "Yep. That looks like a binary poison to me." The Cyborg hunched his shoulders. "Now If I just don't die of brain fever . . ."

  Axel tsked. "I've got a sterilizing field up. So let me plug the hole before your brain leaks out . . ."