Dancer (Wine of the Gods Book 15)

by Pam Uphoff

  After lunch, a siesta was definitely in order.

  And after that . . . she eyed the boxes that had arrived from Paris. They cleared out my room in the barracks. They know I won't be back. She blinked away self-pitying tears and pulled her desk chair over so she could sit while she opened the first box.

  Ah. My work computer, with so many security layers even Raod won't be able to get through them. I could catch up on . . . stuff I knew better than to open with my old comp.

  A tap at the door. "Come in."

  It was Mo with another glass of lemonade. "In case you wanted more." She eyed the boxes curiously.

  "It's probably mostly clothes and stuff from my desk." Hmm, opportunity? "Mo, do you, or anyone else need a computer? My old box . . . wow, now that I think about it, it really is old. Fourteen years. Mind you, it was a good one, but . . . "

  "Oh! Ocha has been saying he could turn mine into a great game machine. I have been telling him to not touch it."

  "Excellent. Give him this one to toy with. And then I'll have space to set up my work comp."

  The girl's eyes lit up as she eyed the bright purple machine on Rael's desk.

  Was I ever so young the color mattered . . . err, obviously or I wouldn't have a purple one.

  She rolled over to the desk and brought up the password folder. "Let's change these to whatever you want, and it's all yours. I took off all my personal stuff years ago."

  She sent the girl off happy, and settled down to catch up with news from . . . her other home. The Presidential Directorate. Memos, reports, duty schedules . . . she blinked away tears. Opened a report on Target World Forty-two.

  And right there, on the front page, a picture of Endi Dewulfe.

  In a uniform of dark blue with gold piping, two belts over the jacket, one around his waist, one slanting down across his hip, carrying a scabbarded sword and a knife. He was frozen in the act of walking down steps, away from an ornate stone building.

  She stopped drooling, and clicked a button to play the recording.

  The picture zoomed back to show the entire front of the building. "This is the headquarters building where the elite unit they call the King's Own is based. Including their intelligence department and what they call 'Magic Central.' Presumably where Dewulfe works. Not that that is his name. I've tentatively identified him as Xen—spelled with an Ex—Wolfson." The voiceover shut up and zoomed in on Endi, again, this time with background sounds of a city. A rider at street level reined over.

  "Xen, yah back on full duty?" A faint accent, not the same she'd heard from Endi in that six months ago visit. More of a drawl. Regional difference, perhaps?

  "Hey Garit, yeah, they told me I'd slacked off long enough." They turned away from the recorder, walking down the street. "What have they got you doing . . . "

  The background noise overwhelmed the rest as they walked away from the agent making the recording. The zoom pulled back again and started a walking tour of the city of Karista, Kingdom of the West, Target Forty-two.

  It was not what she'd expected. It was huge, for this level of tech, a population of three-quarters of a million people. It was clean. Wagons shoveled manure, traffic behaved rationally. People were dressed oddly, but well. They looked well fed. There were children all over. Parks.

  The man doing the recording got a bit sarcastic. "We really ought to rescue these poor savages from these dismal conditions. Look! That poor girl is sitting on a bench reading a book, and in the background, children are playing in the fountain, why, they almost look happy. Oh, no, look! Old people, strolling in the park."

  Rael stifled a laugh. And watched while the Info Agent took a look at the water treatment center. "Sand filters. I can't get close enough to check out the pumps, probably steam engines. The whole city has running water to every house." The voice tones edged into sarcastic. "As I noted in my report thirty years ago."

  A break, and then resumption. "And this is one of eight sewer and storm drain discharge areas. As you can see, the water looks crystal clear. I haven't been able to find a treatment center. No electricity, no gas lines. Heating is with wood or coal, mostly wood. I think the violent tectonic history of the place has critically impacted natural gas and oil formation, or trapping, hence the lack of powered transportation.

  "My next report will be from the countryside. I want to see how they produce the blemish free fruits and vegetables I've always found in the market."

  Rael sat back with a sigh.

  "Oh One! I'm missing all of this. And fat chance they'll show the world what a nice civilized bunch of people we've attacked." She bit her lip. "I think I'd better get up to speed on this . . . not that it's any of my business any more . . . " She checked the date of the report. "Two days ago. Urfa's still keeping me up to date, for all I've been on medical leave for over a year now. I wonder how long ago this actually happened?"

  She switched to the public news channels, brought up last week's archives, and skimmed for anything relevant. The news was all about politics and business, financial stuff, crimes . . . she paused at an editorial about the South American Syndicates taking over a lot of the drug business in Europe. And made a note to hunt down reports about it . . . after she'd looked for news about Endi, Target Forty-two and Earth.

  About sunset, she realized that the nap just hadn't happened, and she was horribly stiff from sitting at the desk for hours.

  Huh. How time flies when you're hoping for just one more peek at Endi. Captain Xen Wolfson. Xen. That's really very fitting. Heh. Even he would flinch from the scars I've got. Just as well he never came back.

  Would he come back?

  "Hey, God of Spies, do you give backrubs to stiff princesses?"

  There was no answer, so she settled for a hot shower before she walked down for dinner.

  Then she dug deeper into her boxes.

  They'd packed everything. With a few sarcastic notes attached. She recognized the handwriting of several other princesses in the division, even though they hadn't signed the notes. "Red silk thong, with your hair? Rael!" "Fuzzy slippers! I'm telling Urfa!" They'd clipped on paper bunny ears . . . "Good to the last drop?" on an empty wine bottle . . . "Oh One. Is that the bottle with Endi's seduction elixir? I wonder if there's a report on it?" She held up the bottle, rotated it. "Maybe a drip, not good for anything." She waffled . . . and put it in her desk drawer. "Bloody silly of me. 'He touched it! I'll cherish it forevah!' like a silly school girl." Lots and lots of civilian clothes. One box was dedicated to shoes alone . . . "High heels? Not for a while. If ever again."

  Jewelry. Half of which wasn't hers, and probably ought to have been turned into the property department, because of all the micro-electronic spy devices built into it.

  She bit her lip, then delved into the various reports. A year's worth of analyzing everything that damned spy had left behind, every word he'd said . . . That potion he'd apparently used to get high Oner women pregnant, had given her as she lay dying . . . Not dying, thank the One! A Von Neumann's nano factory. "You have got to be kidding me. That is so dangerous . . . " But according to the report the microscopic factory ran on alcohol and sulfur. And was made, partially, of alcohols and sulfur. When it ran out, it ate itself. There were no known problems, despite a low level of illicit possession, centered in Le Havre.

  It produced a huge selection of ribozymes. Half RNA with instructions, half enzyme to do the work. They'd identified some as nano meds. "Osteo repair, anti-cancer, blood vessel clean up and repair, bacteria killer, virus hunter . . . telomere repair with possible rejuvenating properties? Yikes!" Some as behavioral modifiers. "Aphrodisiacs, no surprise there. Not that Endi had needed much help. But still, rather distasteful. And eight different fertility aids. Anti-addiction. And . . . a hundred and fifty-eight they haven't identified yet? Zowie." She eyed the desk drawer. Just a dribble, the Von Neumanns are probably long gone.

  And feeding it some more wine would probably be quite illegal.

  Back to the boxes. Hols
ters. They hadn't shipped the weapons, of course. Knives and knickknacks.

  Oh, dear One, I want to be a part of the greater world, not retire down here. I. Am. Going. To. Get. Well. Enough!

  Chapter Four

  Monday, 13 Shawwal 1387

  Rael dragged in from the worst Physical therapy session yet . . . "Five kilo dumbbells. Bad enough I could barely lift them, Mister Sadist Zip made me do it exactly so it hurt the worst. Why did I ever think his accent was cute? 'Zo! We have identified ze muscles zat need zee most work!' I think I'm going to die."

  Raod giggled. "So, you're not going to join us today?"

  Rael moaned. "I will not give up. I will . . . walk to the beach and collapse in the sand."

  "We'll escort you as far as the boardwalk, but strollers and sand simply don't mix." Raod grinned. "And Mother just happens to have a parasol sturdy enough that it could be used as a cane, in the unlikely event that anyone I know would need such a thing."

  The boardwalk was elevated a meter above the highest tide. It sat atop the concrete wave barrier on the seaward side, and on both sides had rails, with frequent steps down to the beach or down to the street.

  Rael'd seen the sand eroded down to show two meters of concrete barrier on the seaward side. After that storm in . . . whenever that was. Now the elements had combined to pile sand almost up to the boardwalk. Rael stepped down, slid and floundered through the fine sand to a pristine stretch. Must work on my balance. But not today.

  The warm dry sand felt wonderful under her back. So what if I probably can't get up. I'll just lie here and veg out forever. Mother can send food. The towel made a passable pillow, the parasol kept the sun out of her eyes, and the book stayed closed. She just relaxed and absorbed the sounds and feels.

  The waves crashed, gulls cried. The breeze brushed her bare legs, whispered through the sand.

  No children? Oh, school. Right.

  She didn't even bother to open her eyes when a complex meld of chattering voices walked by, fading with distance. Or solitary running steps, thumping on the hard wet sand at the edge of the water, coming closer and louder, passing and dying away.

  Thumping and squeaking rubber, male voices. She guessed surfers. The water must still be cold, to need wetsuits. Metallic clank. She looked around. Scuba tanks, not surfboards. They muscled their equipment and spear guns down to the edge of the firm wet sand, put it all on and disappeared into the water.

  She eyed her book, then flopped back and closed her eyes again.

  Clip clop of shoes on the boardwalk, a rattle of stroller wheels on the boards, a faint squeak of one wheel . . . "You are going to be so sunburned!" The squeaks rolled away. Heavier footsteps from the other direction. Uneven, uncertain. Stalling out.

  Rael turned her head to look.

  Oh, not the world's stupidest drug dealer. She groaned out loud. "Are you back again?"

  "They . . . they called me 'Kitchen.' In English, so I'd remember what cocina meant. They said I was stupid to not speak Spanish. They said . . . come back when she's dead."

  Rael groaned and half rolled to the left. Up on the elbow. Twinge of pain from her chest as she shoved all the way up to sitting. "Well, if you intend to kill me, you're going about it all wrong."

  He sagged. "I can't kill you!"

  "True. But I suspect you mean that you don't have any wish to even attempt it." She looked him over. Stray puppy. Kick or adopt? Maybe the local animal shelter will take him? "How old are you? Why aren't you in school?"

  "Fifteen. I hate school. And everybody cuts school."

  "Parents?"

  "My Mama works . . . I don't know who my father is."

  Ah. I felt that lie. And that pain. Just when you think the High Oner wives with their stupid game is the height of dysfunction, you run into a certain class of Servaones who try to breed up, not bothering with marriage. No doubt she thinks this stronger son will earn enough money to lift her out of the actual servant class.

  "Fifteen. You touched the One early. Have you had any training?"

  "Oh, you mean 'keep your thoughts to yourself, jerk!' followed by a slap? I finally got enough control for that, then they ignored me."

  Rael wrinkled her nose. My parents taught me a bit, then at seventeen I went off to Princess school. "They don't do drills at high school at all?"

  "Meditation? Right. Fifty guys sitting on the gym floor going 'ommm!' That really works."

  Rael couldn't help but snicker. "One! I'd forgotten about those classes. Do you guys try to 'ommm' to this week's top hit music?"

  His eyes widened. A long silence. "How much trouble did you get into, when you were in school?"

  "Enough to avoid boredom. Not so much that it affected my grades. I was aiming for a top college, when the Princess School made an offer."

  "Well, there's no school for Princes, not that they'd take a Clostuone, so I'm stuck."

  "Actually it sounds like you're sinking. Kick off your shoes and sit down." Rael forced herself straighter. Crossed her legs. All joking aside, I probably will need help to get up off the ground.

  "Put your hands on your knees, palms up. Open your mind, forget the shielding you've learned to do. To learn to gather power, it's easier if you hold no barriers."

  Not that he had much, but what was there shivered and split.

  "Listen to the waves, and relax. Feel the heat of the Sun on your palms. Absorb that heat. Imagine it soaking into the blood vessels of your hands and being pumped all through your body." She softened her own shields, but, maintained control of what she projected. Opened herself to everything coming in. "Umm, yeah. Just learn to take it in, and when you learn to do things, it'll be there for you to use."

  "But . . . I don't know how to do anything."

  "Yeah. That comes later. Your talents are still embryonic. They don't even bother testing Princesses for specific talents until we're twenty. It's all about potential, up till then. Just . . . soak in the sun. Your mental shield will get stronger, and you can experiment with . . . oh, think of it as a one way mirror. Keep in your own thoughts, but read other people's strong feelings and even their almost vocalized thoughts."

  "That's . . . "

  "Impolite? Yes, and it can really hurt your feelings, too. But you're playing with the Big Boys, getting into a drug gang. You may need it to stay alive."

  "I don't . . . I didn't . . . they were the only people who'd talk to me." Even being bad is better than being alone.

  Rael suppressed a wince as she caught that thought, and the barely suppressed angst.

  "Being a teenager is hell. My only advice is get your ass back in school and work at the grades."

  "And ommm to the music?" He scrambled to his feet and grabbed his shoes.

  "It can't bag you a lower grade than cutting." She bit her lip. "I'll be out here most Mondays. Later. Like . . . after school lets out."

  ***

  "I've got tickets to the game!"

  Rael blinked at her father. "Game?"

  He sighed. "Paris has ruined you. You used to like football."

  "Oh! You mean the finals? Montevideo made the cut?" I only watched because I had a crush on Bruno, Dad!

  "Ha! So you really are that out of touch."

  "Oh, right. Not quite that time of year. I keep forgetting, what with the seasons flipped from Paris."

  "And you obviously have no idea that the Montevideo Flash is having a bit of a rough year and is going to have to fight to win the division championship."

  Bruno will be playing. I wonder if he's still as good as he was . . . He's over forty, he must realize he'll be lucky to have another five years. Then he'll retire and find something else to do for the next century and a half. And not many more prospects than I've got.

  "Not everyone follows sports, Dad. It is not impossible to miss." Although I caught a fair amount while I was in the hospital. But I've been more interested in politics than sports for quite a while.

  "Anyway, the four of us are going." Dad sounde
d stubborn. "Raod needs to get out of the house even more than you do."

  "And you're dragging poor mother along as well?"

  "Indeed. It'll be good for her as well."

  Rael couldn't help but giggle. And really, really hoped he'd gotten good seats. Because I cannot climb all the way up to the cheap seats. Nor admire Bruno from such a distance.

  "Friday night, so don't let that Mr. Zip of yours wear you out!"

  "Right." No telling what he will do, little maniac. Probably make me climb more stairs than usual.

  Mr. Zip had grinned. "Oooo! Ze Beeeg Game, yes? We will only demand three sets of ze stairs, and even ze weight we will cut back just ze little bit, and only because you haf been working zo very hard! Now, zees new machine, she will require you to flex ze back . . . "

  The game was fun.

  Dad had really splurged on the tickets: two rows up, right on the centerline.

  Bruno had started, come off for a while, gone back in. The announcer said something catty about the old man needing a breather. Rael had watched his back from a dozen meters away, and agreed. I can see why I was so hot for him when I was sixteen. But he moves aggressively, looms, swaggers and stalks. Endi, Xen, damn it, was always smooth, relaxed, confident. No need to posture. The strongest of us were no threat to him.

  Unlike Bruno, who can be beaten. Magically and physically. Damn. Another childhood Idol bites the dust. Well, maybe I ought to study his body language. I may need to posture now too.

  She replayed the recording from Target Forty-two again. Just the start. For study. Not because of the man's broad shoulders or pretty face, nor the dimples as he chatted with his friend. Certainly not because of those dark, dark eyes.

  The weekend was lovely, indolent in the start of the summer heat.

  Monday morning, Mr. Zip made her make up for the indolence. Made her stretch like she'd forgotten she could. After lunch all she wanted to do was crawl up the stairs and melt into bed. Only pure stubbornness got her as far as the beach.