by Pam Uphoff
"But living out in a ghost town . . . well, frankly, I don't know what their primary mission is." Rael admitted.
Xen shrugged. "Knowing you lot, you're probably trying to sidle up to the Earthers . . . I wonder what the Earther diplomats do for fun here. And if you could do it in a ghost town. Or where the Earthers live, here on Purp, if they need handymen, and repair people. Gardeners and so forth . . . "
Rael chewed a knuckle and tried to keep a straight face.
"What?"
"You are such a spy! You can't stop thinking that way, can you?"
He snorted. "No. Well, I'll help this lot. If nothing else, they could trickle in, one at a time from the ghost town. Once one of them gets established, he could introduce a fellow clansman, new to town, every once in a while." He shrugged. "What you do with it is up to you lot."
Rael sighed. "Yes. But I'm glad you think the Team's trauma is mostly drug side-effects. Thank you for helping." She leaned on him, as she felt Hugo's attention fade away.
"Oh, Spikey. What are you up to this time?"
"Making nice, in case I need help, again."
He laughed out loud, and led her inside. "So tell, me, Term-wife, can you cook, or is that still my job?"
"I can cook. What have you got in the way of food?"
"Ah! The wonders of bubbles. Time dilation, you know? So when you open this, you are actually opening a bubble." He opened a wooden cupboard door.
A basket of fresh leafy veggies. A smaller basket of eggs. A big cooked roast. Two uncooked chickens, looking horrible and dead, to her city eyes. Lots of bottles and jars. She touched the roast. Cold, as if refrigerated.
"Well, that's handy."
"Over here, too." He opened another cabinet.
Ceramic crocks, labeled flour, rice, oatmeal, sugar . . .
"However, it won't last long with eighteen people here. There's a market . . . " He settled down to brief her on the local trades and customs.
It was educational. "I've never infiltrated a society I didn't understand. Heh. Mother disapproves of my Multitude friends. Now I wish I'd spent even more time with them."
Hugo and Xen left shortly after dark, leaving Rael in charge of the still sleeping trio.
Four trucks returned, a bit before midnight.
The team was no longer purple, and while they helped themselves to Gene's leftover roast, Hugo conferred with "Jack" Akci, the second in command, who'd apparently remained unnoticed by virtue of never stopping anywhere long enough to be questioned.
"You drove all three trucks all over the region? Constantly?"
"Yep. We ate take out, slept in the back, rotated drivers . . . We are now fully conversant with every major road in this quarter of the continent." He rotated his hands. "And you have no idea how nice it feels to not be purple. We've also been reading newspapers, listening to the radio, bought a few books. We could only hope you hadn't been captured, because we couldn't contact you at all. We've gotten close enough to every jail in town to hear you, and for you to hear us." He dropped his voice as he noticed Rael.
Hugo shook his head. "Princess Rael. The Princess Rael of the Presidential Directorate."
Jack sat up and stared at her. "One!"
"And my tall buddy is Disco. Not admitting to a specific Exile World, although he did say he wasn't from here. Personally, I'm thinking Arbolia." Rael slid that one in.
"The place with the freak gods?" Jack thought about that. "Purple and he is tall enough to be a bit freaky."
"Hey, Mudball!" A fist pounded on the door. "You in there?"
Gene loped to the front of the barn, and pulled the pin that held the door shut. "Monteleon, good to see you again," he called as he grabbed the door and held it while a big, broad old man walked in. His hair shone iridescent blue in the lamp light, his skin tones looked more bruised than corpse-purple.
"Ho, you've got a crowd, am I interrupting?"
"Just a bunch of country friends, looking for better money. I figured I'd take them around on the job, see if they've got the skills they claim."
"Works for me. I've got contracts for four houses in Mesa Verde. Bring them by tomorrow, and we'll give 'em a try."
"Glad to." Xen pulled out a chair in invitation. "Had dinner? Oh, hey, Sophi, c'mere." He elbowed the older Purp. "Wait till you see this. Just got a Termer. Look at that red hair, and white skin, will ya?"
"Ha! Trying to clean up your bloodlines? Good luck." He leered at Rael.
She glared, and turned an evil eye on Xen.
"Feisty too." The old man grinned. "Serves you right if she gives you hell." He slapped Gene's shoulder. "See you tomorrow, Married Man." He swaggered out, and one of the Team slipped up to slide the door and pin it in place.
"You know, I could get to hating these people." Rael growled.
Xen just grinned. "But he just gave us jobs. Do you lot know which end of a hammer to hold?"
They all had a reasonable spread of abilities. Her "brother," who was still getting called Kook instead of the proper Klark, admitted to having worked his way through college as a plumbers assistant.
"That means I got all the dirty jobs in the tight twisty uncomfortable places."
Xen looked over at her, his eyes laughing. "And guess what women don't do in this society?"
"Work?"
"Not around men, and not at all once they marry. You can, however, shop and cook." He eyed the various Oners hanging around. "I'd advise against local girlfriends, but casual dating can give you a bit of cover. Now, since none of you are purps any more, I want to make this very clear. Normal men. Do. Not. Date. Purple women. The relatives will castrate you, and not worry about you bleeding to death or whatever. And damn unlikely a judge would find them guilty of anything. Just don't do it."
That got a bit of muttering going, most of it about not touching a corpse lady with a ten meter, umm, pole.
Hugo ordered them off to sleep in the loft, set a watch, with Loois and Carl splitting the night and staying home tomorrow.
Rael was all too aware that a number of eyes watched as she and "Lobo" entered separate bedrooms. Damn it.
She fixed breakfast in the pre-dawn and sent everyone except Carl and Loois off to work. Scowled at the kitchen. I'm used to an autokitchen that will make anything I want, from basic ingredients to a five course meal, ready to eat. This completely from scratch cooking is . . . challenging. Good grief, eggs still in the shell!
Three of the Team drove home at noon.
"Monteleon said we were useless." T-bone Canis, formerly known as Ento Withione, shrugged. "As far as construction is concerned, he's right."
Rael looked at them. T-bone and Andy were dark, Sam fair. "Think about really being purps. Yeah, genetic engineering makes me squirm too. But this is a tried and tested gene complex that a lot of the Prophets' friends had. Yeah, including Endi Dewulfe, through his father, who is a Comet Fall Old God. Apparently there's a version that's turned off, there. Well, think about it." She waved toward the table. "I've been looking through the jobs postings. There are some entry level accounting positions, that specifically want Purps. Sales positions. Executive secretaries. Women don't do secretarial work here, apparently we're too giddy, and easily taken advantage of."
They gravitated to the table, and joined Loois and Carl, who were head down in the paper, and to her relief, acting much more like arrogant and angry Oners, than yesterday's quiet and traumatized zombies.
So, some of them working rough jobs and some working in offices. Some Purps, some Normals, and some branded bad boys. Not a bad setup. Rael stepped to the small side door and looked out at the weeds and the scrapheap of a house next door. I'd get claustrophobia, or go stir crazy inside of a month. Maybe both. I'll write up a report, emphasizing the conditions and warning both male and female agents, so they know, psychologically, what to expect, here.
Her lips quirked. And I'm going to suggest that I regularly interview Xen about all those other worlds' societies. She stepped back inside to pi
ck up what Xen had called a shopping basket, a wicker thing with about a twenty liter capacity, and the cash he'd left, and headed out to find this market he'd spoken of.
The work party hit the barn an hour after sundown, stiff, sore, complaining about the paucity of showers, and eating everything in sight. Rael mentally doubled tomorrow's shopping list. These guys are going to have to spread out, and maybe some local girlfriends to do the shopping and cooking wouldn't be a bad idea.
T-bone propped his elbows on the table and eyed the Purp. "So, Lobo. Sophi says you can do genetic engineering, give us real purple genes while we're here, and then remove them when we go home."
Hugo frowned.
Lobo shrugged. "I can. I don't know if it's a good idea, but that's not my call. It's two days till Sunday, no work allowed all day. If you'd like, we could run up to Ellaiha, perhaps leave some of the vehicles there." He eyes flicked toward the trucks, full of anonymous boxes and crates under tarps. Ugho had made no move to unload, here in someone else's domain. "You could all get acquainted with the area you are supposed to be from. I set it all up, figuring I'd need to check regularly and make sure the Earth wasn't taking over, violently or otherwise. Turns out this is one of the few worlds they actually get along with, so I'll be a rare visitor, and you can use the town as you wish. I expect you'll get sick and tired of the barn, quickly."
Loois' hand went to his burned cheek.
Lobo nodded. "And I can sign the release papers in about six months, show the court a working ledger, how you're gainfully employed and haven't been making any trouble. And how you've earned back your bond and more. You'll get all new papers, but the brand will have to stay until you go home. Speaking of which, I'll get a ledger. You can keep the records up, and pay taxes."
Hugo nodded. "And carry on like a real company."
Lobo's teeth flashed. "Drop that mindset, it will give you away. Be a real company. Sweat to make payroll, pay all the taxes, the guild fees. Live it, believe it. Be authentic and they'll never question what your hidden motives are."
"But you're not hardly ever here. Why do they believe you?"
Another quick flash of teeth. "Because I'm a Purp. Poor Purps are supposed to put up a front of prosperity, not let the Color down. They all know I bought that town dirt cheap, because no one in their right mind wants it. But it gave me a lot of 'face' so to speak. They laugh behind my back, and think they know exactly what I am. Lazy and pretentious. Oh, and that I'm an alkie. Alcohol addict, which explains the long absences."
Hugo nodded. "And now you've got us. And they know we're not from your town."
"Right. They think I'm putting up some non-purple throwbacks who got kicked out of their family compounds. Probably for a cut of your pay. Grabbed a pretty girl, for bed and breeding, but I can dump her if the kids don't get my purpleness."
"One. Well, no question that you've saved the four of us, and kept the rest from just running back home on the first scheduled gate." Hugo leaned back and eyed Lobo. "So . . . where's your gate. One of these Comet Fall permanent ones, I suspect."
Lobo nodded. "I'll have them close it, or move it, when I leave. It just goes to the Maze, wouldn't do you guys much good. But we, Disco, don't actually want to hand you the keys to our spying web. Sorry. What I can do is a corridor from here to wherever you put your gate anchor. In Ellaiha would be my recommendation."
Kook didn't say anything about his suspicions about Lobo's identity. Partly because he was junior to everyone else here, but mostly . . . because the man fascinated him. He had his shields up all the time. In public he'd felt like a low powered Oner. Servaone. Yet somehow his eyes weren't shuttered. They were deep and powerful. Five years ago he'd infiltrated Oner society and shaken it to the roots. Saved the President's life, stopped the invasion of his own world, and changed the Oner's view of the Multiverse forever. Kook was more than willing to learn from the best. Even if it meant being a branded almost-slave installing primitive plumbing in substandard housing.
Just today had been an eye-opener. Lobo had worked his ass off all day, and talked his green crew through all the jobs they'd been tasked with. He'd sweated, joked, cursed and laughed. Fit in. And the Oners had been pulled into the crew in his wake. I felt like a member of the group. Even the Purps started treating me decently once they saw I could do the piping. Hugo got treated the worst, branded and nothing special. But he worked, and they all accepted him, by the end of the day. Is this how the Multitude feels, lives? It's going to knock some of my prejudices loose, that's for sure.
He looked over at the two bottles on the kitchen table. Wrapped in paper, and labeled simply "On" and "Off." Lobo had set them down and wandered off.
T-bone, Andy and Sam had had a long talk with Hugo and Jack. Then all three of them had taken a small glassful of "On." Changing their genetics as if it weren't important. Not a big change, mind you, but . . .
The construction crew worked their asses off for the next two days.
And then they piled into the trucks and drove overnight to this Ellaiha place.
In the early light, it was dry and dusty. Something about the untracked blown sand in the streets and the build up in the drainage ditches along both sides of the main—and only—street spoke eloquently of its long abandonment.
"The outsides of the buildings have been repaired, and I've got the plumbing working in the saloon and the church. The church is to show respect. Don't let anyone hear you not respecting it. Act like it's a chapel of the One, with a Priest living there. You three who are going Purp, I'd recommend you pick homes. I'll put in a corridor to one of the private houses, so you can come and go, at need, but you'll need to occasionally drive back and forth, so people don't notice that you never do. Got it?" Lobo slanted a look at the group. "Actually, it would be in character, and quite typical, for me to order one of the indentured boys to stay here and start watering, landscaping a bit and so forth. Paint my saloon." He shrugged, glanced at Hugo. "Whatever works for you lot." He walked away from the trucks, fishing out a big ring of old fashioned metal keys.
Rael scowled after him. "If he wasn't an expert, I wouldn't even do it short term."
Hugo nodded. "Unfortunately, as you say, he's good. I think we'll follow his suggestions, for now."
Kook stretched. Sleeping in the trucks had been even less comfortable than sleeping on straw. He eyed the little town. Saloon at one end. Two vacant lots then five houses, crowded together. Then, with space around it, a tiny building. Steep roof, with a cross. He nodded to himself. Their intel had been that the Natives had clung to one of the old Christian sects, but had modified it in their early years.
Beyond the chapel, three houses. Across the street from the chapel, two more little houses. That was all that was left of the town. A suggestion of square corners and straight lines in the drifting sand hinted at old foundations.
He followed the rest of them into the saloon. Inside, the desolation vanished. There wasn't even dust on the polished wooden bar, the tables. The floorboards were a bit scuffed and dull, the mirror behind the bar was cracked and the silvering crazed all around the edges. There weren't many bottles on the few shelves. Stairs led to a balcony, a narrow space with rooms behind it, doorways gaping open. The ceiling was wood, unfinished cedar, it looked like. Lobo strolled out of sight under the balcony, and pans clanked.
Rael . . . Sophi . . . looked around and shook her head. "I think someone has watched too many Western flicks. Leader, I'll leave you to organize your people. One only knows whether that man can cook." She strode off.
Hugo looked around. "Well. I suppose we ought to have known Disco was good at infiltration. Loois, I want you to stay here. Play gardener. You three had better stay until you get purplish. That'll give you a minor compass, if you need to raise power. Carl? How are you at rough carpentry? Or book keeping?"
Carl was looking a lot better for having been out of jail for almost four days. "Actually I do fine cabinetry as a hobby. Mostly boxes and stuff. Custom pictur
e frames, if my brother needs 'em. He's an artist."
"Right. Tomorrow you can start working, impress that Monteleon character and you'll be in good shape." He ran an eye over the rest of them. "So, who wants to be the bookkeeper for a 'general contractor' and what other job opportunities can we find?"
"Sales, accounting, office work, several professions. Are we going to be here long enough to attend college?"
They knocked the ideas around while Lobo and Rael started bring out plates of food.
The sixteen of them half filled the room as they tucked into a big breakfast.
Kook paid attention to where Lobo and Rael were. Deliberately not joining us, making it clear we're on our own. Except that eventually they did join them. Rael came out of the kitchen with a pot of coffee in each hand. Lobo carried two plates and two empty cups to a table near Ugho.
And started talking while Rael topped off coffee cups.
Local history, local customs, legalities. Relationship with Earth, with other worlds. It was a one day cram session. All about Purple, all about fitting in.
And after they had eaten, Lobo walked over to the smallest house, and put in a corridor to the barn in the city, with an illusion over it, and lined out another spot and said he'd see about a permanent gate. "No promises. I'm personally of the opinion that the more we infiltrate each other's worlds and can keep track of what they're doing, the better off we all are, and the less likely we'll go all paranoid and pull a pre-emptive retaliatory attack."
Rael snickered.
"Oh yeah, laugh all you want. But don't think both the Earth and your own government don't trot out terms like that when they're feeling paranoid."
"So you think, the more information we have, the less paranoid we'll feel—and them too?" Hugo narrowed his eyes. "Have you helped the Earth spy on One?"