The Fiend (Wine of the Gods Book 13)

by Pam Uphoff

  "Hmm, Madam Song? Are wild turkeys on your list?"

  "No, they've managed well enough, why?"

  "I think we'll have some for dinner. As part of survival training. Guys? Who wants to hunt?"

  "What! We are here to save birds, not kill them!" Madam Song stomped over and glared at Ajha.

  "Indeed. But a team leader also needs to do some training of personnel. Hob, get away from the electronics. Let's go."

  He didn't go to where she'd seen the birds. Instead he circled around. "We need to get downwind of them, so they don't smell us coming. Now, close your eyes and look for the dim glows of living animals. Looks like a flock of six, twenty meters away in the brush. Have push spells ready, stun doesn't work reliably on many animals. Just swat them out of the air."

  They looked at him like he was insane.

  "Form a line, we'll sneak as close as possible, then rush in close to get into swat range."

  They spread out; Ride and Leggy to her right, Hob, Dan, and Ajha to her left. She concentrated on not stepping on anything that might bite her. Making noise was a bit low on her list . . . Huge birds exploded out of the brush scattering . . . she pushed, a turkey whipped up high into the sky, summersaulted and disappeared into the distance.

  Curses and yelps, Hob laughing at Dan who was trying to hold onto one wing of the flapping tornado. Ajha loped up, dropped one limp bird and reached into the frantic feathers . . . twisted something. Dan's bird went limp.

  Fean's stomach flipped, she felt faint. He just killed it. So easily. She straightened, berating herself. We're hunting for food. It's a survival skill. I could . . . I could . . . No I couldn't. I want to go home, where food comes out of machines in nice hot seasoned servings, like it's supposed to.

  "Right. Let's get these birds plucked and cleaned, then the cooking class will begin."

  The naked featherless bodies looked even more like dead animals.

  "You Paleolithic savage!" Madam Song was wide-eyed, huffing in something between indignation and horror. "You are hell bound to destroy your own environment. With people like you around, it's a wonder humanity has survived. I suspect you are the reason there are so many empty world, devoid of both people and animals."

  "Me personally?" Ajha cocked his head, pondering. "Nope, don't think so. Now, students, for a temporary camp, we won't get too fancy, we'll just . . . "

  Madam Song retreated, baffled.

  The turkeys were a bit tough. The flavor was to die for.

  They moved on, and on the seventh day camped and turned on the beacon. The sparkling circle opened. Leggy on one side and Ride on the other alternated, tossing the cages through as fast as they could. Madam Song fussed over the rough handling her precious birdies were getting. Ajha cheerful assured her the birds would be fine. "That why there's such a fine mesh on the cages; it buffers the stress of the dimensional transfer."

  "But the tossing!"

  "See? They're catching them, on the other side. No problem."

  Ride tossed the last cage.

  Ajha winced. Someone must have missed a grab. A sack popped through, and Ride snagged it. The gate shrunk and disappeared.

  "So, let's move further west, away from the Nazis and think about getting another vehicle. According to the map, Cheyenne Wyoming is the next town of any size."

  Fean perked up. "Cheyenne like in the old western movies from before the war?"

  "Yep. Same place, different history after, umm, 1940ish." Ajha grinned. "So, I don't think there will be shoot outs in the street, between the sheriff and the bank robbers. But if nothing else we can sleep in real beds and take hot baths. Eat someone else's cooking."

  Ride grinned at that. "Ah, c'mon Ajha, you're a pretty good cook."

  Leggy shot a look Fean's direction. Said nothing.

  One dammit, why should I know how to cook over a campfire? Although hearing what Madam Song called Ajha over the dead turkeys was amusing. And . . . I can learn to cook. I mean, the school's cook wasn't even a Halfer, so how hard can it be?

  "A hot bath sounds marvelous." Fean refrained from looking pointedly at some people who really, really needed to bathe. Men! Or should I say, Boys! Splashing in the creek only counts if you apply a bit of soap and don't sweat immediately after! At least the Boss stays reasonably clean. She did not look toward Madam Song. Did not resent the large pots of hot water she conveyed to the woman's tent every night. It's not that she's trying to lord it over me. Now that she's here, she's just so totally dedicated to this safari to capture extinct birds that she's forgotten we're undercover and in dangerous territory. If toting water will keep her happy and not running off to lecture men with guns, I'll tote water. And keep my mouth shut.

  Because I need a good report so I can get Paris assignment next. This field excursion is contrary to everything I ever wanted.

  Chapter Four

  26 June 2288

  Middle of Nowhere, North America, World 163

  The Mississippi River was bridged at a place called Clinton, apparently because it split around an island and two short spans were better than one longer.

  Considering the construction material, Fean tended to agree. Primitive. Very very . . . but they ought not be this backwards . . . I guess it's the low population. But the beams don't look heavy enough and all the rust is scary. And it's narrow. And they've got a check point . . . Uh oh.

  Ajha had traded off driving with all of them. Madam Song had lost her driving privileges after she got distracted by a flight of geese, high in the air . . .

  Ajha drove them up to the check point at the bridge.

  Fean closed her eyes and meditated. Felt the guard's suspicions, grabbing a thin board with sheets of paper clipped to it . . . A fog of power flowed from Ajha, covered all the guards in the vicinity . . . The closest guard looked from paper to the truck, to Ajha to Fean, riding in front for a change. He relaxed, tossed the clipboard back into the guard shack. "The toll for trucks is two hundred marks." He spoke a slurred English.

  Fean gawped. "Two . . . "

  Ajha shrugged, and used English as well. "They need the money for repairs. And I heard they were going to put a modern bridge in, downstream."

  The guard shrugged. "At Moline. I'll believe it when I see those penny pinchers pony up the money."

  Ajha shuffled through bills, and handed over a sheaf. He looked sadly at the few small denomination bills left and shrugged in apparent resignation.

  Of course they're all counterfeit and we've got lots . . .

  The guard waved them on, and Ajha eased the truck onto the old bridge. "We won't stop here. I want to be completely away from the army."

  "But, weren't they Americans? And what did you do?"

  "An illusion, changed the license plates and our appearance. Their great grandparents might have been American. But that just means they need to work harder, to prove themselves to their German superiors. We don't want to be their plum, to take proudly back to your buddy in De Kalb."

  "Humph. And two hundred marks? That's like, four days in that hotel in De Kalb. For all of us."

  He grinned. "I'll bet the toll is half that. He'll keep fifty and give ten each to his buddies. That's life in the occupied territories."

  "Humph."

  "But if the One was doing it to the Natives, you'd approve, right?"

  "Of course!" She paused. "I mean, we don't, well . . ."

  "Rape pretty girls we spot on the street? Confiscate property out of pique? Take down governments and put our own in place, whether the people there like it or not?"

  Fean crossed her arms and glared. "Are you a Native loving pacifist?"

  "Yes."

  She scowled at him, then stuck her nose in the air and stared out the windshield. I'm sure the rumors that Action teams are encouraged to . . . spread the genes of the One . . . is different, they wouldn't rape . . . And who cares about natives anyway?

  They rattled on for hours through more and more uninhabited land.

  "Des Moines.
Last gas for two hundred miles." Fean read the sign and blinked. "Really?"

  "I don't think I'll risk it being wrong." Ajha pulled into the fueling station. It looked like something from a tourist trap reconstruction. Especially the decrepit old man who topped off the tank and filled the three containers Ride fetched out from the back as well. Half an hour later, the sun getting low, Ajha pulled off the road and drove across some unmown grass to a creek. The ground was smoother than the road . . .

  "We'll camp here tonight. I doubt we'll make Cheyenne tomorrow unless the road improves." He eyed the ground, where a circle of stones surrounded charred soil, all of it overgrown with weeds. They weren't the first people to camp here, but they were the first this summer.

  Fean bit back a moan at the thought of two more teeth rattling days on the road. And walked over to the trees to see if there was firewood easily available. I am the pinnacle of evolution, a superhuman, created by unknown scientists. Clearly idiots. Since I can barely manage my part of the chores. There wasn't much deadfall, but a dead tree leaned against a live neighbor. She scowled at it.

  "Do you know how to slice?"

  She startled a bit. Ajha had walked up behind her.

  "No. I left Princess school before we got any battle magic."

  "Physical shield?"

  "Yeah. Mine are pretty good."

  "What slice is, is that same force." He held out his right hand, pointed it at the tree and swiped it across. "Projected out a bit from your hand." The twenty centimeter tree trunk jerked sideways, cut completely across. He stepped back as the tree crackled a bit, high limbs cracking and breaking. And holding, entangled in the branches of the neighboring tree.

  "Give it a try."

  Fean eyed the tree. Thought about a physical shield.

  "Put the shield all around yourself. Then reduce it just covering your front. Good, now reduce it further, until just your left hand is covered. Picture the shield extending out from your hand, and thin it down. So thin it can slice right though anything."

  She moved her hand. There wasn't even any resistance . . . the tree ignored her.

  "Now extend it further. Further. Get right up against the tree and swipe."

  This time there was resistance. She concentrated on thinner, a single molecule thick would do. Nor did it have to be broad. Just a thin line of mental force.

  Ajha grabbed her shoulder and jerked her back as the tree trunk kicked out the half meter section they'd cut off and the whole thing crashed down.

  Fean whooped and bounced up to the tree to touch that cut, feel the absolutely smooth plane of her cut.

  "Now do it again." Ajha was grinning.

  She picked up a faint voice from the camp. "One! He's teaching her to be even more dangerous!"

  She cut up more firewood than they could possibly use, and retired to the fireside with a headache and shaking hands. The guys collected the logs, and got lessons themselves as they tried to split them into more inflammable pieces.

  Madam Song got impatient, and heated her own water, magically. With a sniff, and her hands folded in her lap.

  Fean could feel her face heating. Gesturing like some hack magician in a cheap action vid. My parents would be mortified! Her eyes slid back toward the pile of logs. She turned her back on it and raised her nose. "The things I do to fit into this interesting group."

  Ajha grabbed a shovel and cleared out the fire pit. Then he did something weird and shattered one of the logs. He picked up the detritus and dumped it all in the fire pit. Lit it with a touch of power, and started stacking wedges of her logs all around it.

  Madam Song eyed him suspiciously, but the food he produced all came out of nice antiseptic packaging.

  Fein stuffed herself, and eyed her hand. I did that better than the guys. And the youngest of them has two years of field experience. She looked back at the unassuming figure scrubbing pots in the creek. He is a good teacher. I'll have to see what else he can teach me, before we're done and I can get back to civilization. Away from Nazis and Native lovers.

  The next evening he taught her how to prepare freshly killed rabbits for cooking. It was utterly gross. And then he made her cook them. And eat them. With a sufficiently firm grip on her imagination, it even tasted good.

  Cheyenne was a bit of a disappointment. Apparently it had never had the sort of shoot outs and outlawry all the old pre-war American Westerns showed. But the hotel did have huge bathtubs and a good boiler.

  Several restaurants, all with good cooks. It was almost civilized.

  But she resisted flirting with the cute guys that kept trying to catch her eye. One disaster was quite enough. Even though that tall dark fellow was really, really cute.

  Quite a few people travelled through, heading for the west coast. and locals came and went from the west coast, regularly. She listened in while Ajha chatted with the really, really cute guy. Ned. Umm, umm!

  ". . . so the roads get a bit better maintenance." Ned shrugged. "And not the Reich. They can't be bothered with our needs. So we have local taxes and get it done ourselves."

  Ajha nodded. "Local control is always best." He shrugged. "At some point 'we' will become 'them' and this occupied territory treatment will fade."

  Faint bristling from Ned.

  Ajha just shrugged again. "What we need is a federation, with more control lower down. This top heavy micro managing, not to mention the huge military is a serious drain on the economy. I mean, why an army, when there's nothing left that's big enough to threaten us?"

  Ned glowered a bit. "Well, maybe. Anyway, maybe I'll see you on the road." he shoved away from the bar and stalked off.

  Fean sighed. Ahja eyed her, then held up three fingers to the barkeeper. "I see everyone is here. Is Madam Song behaving?"

  Fean rolled her eyes. "At least she's remembering to speak German. And I'd better get back to her before she does something insane."

  Ajha grinned and headed for the table. They'd given up on the strict social split. Just no point to it. Ajha sat down across from Madam Song and Fean joined him. The other four guys were at the next table. Fean could hear their voices, and caught an occasional phrase.

  Hob was enthusiastically describing his latest accomplishment. ". . . random numbers alternating with . . ." and then ". . . latest intercept. They're quite convinced that we're rebels. Cool, right?"

  Ajha glanced over his shoulder, and shook his head.

  Fean frowned. "What it the . . . wrong people get any of our . . . stuff?"

  Ajha kept his own voice low. "Our early ventures into this world included picking up a lot of their electronic equipment. Hob was in the research division and figured out how it all worked. Wherever possible we're using local equipment. Pretty much everything except the beacon and the solar tarp. Even the alterations to the truck and car used local parts where possible, and are very subtle."

  Madam Song sniffed. "It needs better shock absorbers. Either that or an aircushion vehicle."

  Ajha shook his head. "Very poor fuel efficiency. This will be fine for the next two months or so."

  Fean half closed her eyes. As she'd suspected, Ajha had a weak privacy spell over their two tables. Not enough to form a noticeable silent spot, but their speech ought to be muffled enough to not alarm the Natives. The man's good, no doubt about it.

  Fean took a last long hot bath before they headed off again.

  Madam Song snagged the front seat, and left Fean in the back with the four men.

  They were tying stuff across the truck . . . "Hammocks?"

  Ride grinned. "I made an executive decision that we needed better accommodations back here. Yes, we got five, Princess."

  Fean pinched her nose. "If you absolutely must have a nickname for me, I'm frequently referred to as the Fiend. Sometimes with considerable elaboration."

  Hob snickered. "Can't imagine why."

  She eyed him . . . a swift kick . . . would get her a bad rating. One damn it.

  The road climbed. Funny how driving
was so different than flying. Up in the air, she'd never appreciated the changes in altitude, the vast sweep of prairie, and then the badlands, stark beautiful rock, winding potholed roads that slowed progress, and allowed appreciation of the view . . . of the road block and the gun stuck in her face through the open window.

  "Err, good afternoon?" Ajha looked wary, but not frightened.

  "Not really." The dark bearded man smiled, showing yellowed irregular teeth. He poked Ajha with the end of his rifle. "Move over." He removed the gun, and opened the door. Ajha scooted closer to Fean as another man climbed in and took the controls.

  Ned! What the One Hell! Is every good looking man a violent asshole on this planet? First Mr. Pretty Blonde German and now Ned?

  She switched her gaze to the man holding the gun in her face. Meh. Average. Good. I was getting worried. Now what are we going to do? :: What are we going to do? ::

  :: Nothing. Let's find out if this is a problem or an opportunity. ::

  :: What! ::

  :: Aren't you curious about the rebels? Well, here they are. Volunteering to be studied. ::

  Fean gawped at her leader as the truck jolted into reverse. The gun retreated and the man stepped away as the truck turned around. They backtracked a couple of kilometers before they turned off into the badlands on a dusty track.

  She leaned forward to glare at Ned. "Why are you stealing our truck!" she heard the indignation in her voice and winced. I ought to be frightened. She made herself shrink back and tried again. "You could just let us go." C'mon, you can sound more frightened than that! "You're not going to . . . " She let that trail off as her voice got high and squeaky. Not bad!

  "Relax, Fern. They probably just want to know what Madam Song is doing."

  Ned looked over. "Yeah, what the hell is she doing?"

  "Collecting birds. And maybe some lizards." Ajha shrugged. "Professor Doktor Song Fuest is . . . a bit eccentric."

  "Oh . . . " One bloody hell. "Lieber gott! She is not going to like this." Fean turned her head toward the back of the truck. "I don't hear anything."