by Pam Uphoff
"It's like an upscale commune." Hanger mutter. "Commune of the Rich and Infamous."
"I was thinking Rome and decadence, myself, but there appears to be a good deal of female domination down there."
"Yeah, especially that woman on the left there. Sheesh, she's pregnant enough to pop anytime, you wouldn't think she'd be interested."
"Let alone monopolize three at once."
"I swear that redhead sitting on the edge of the pool is in labor. She keeps clutching her belly."
"My sister said sex was a great way to get contractions started." Lancing shrugged at their looks. "She swore she only did it when she was overdue."
"Ick!" Albrecht dropped her binocs to give him a good glare.
"Hey, I'm just repeating what she says, and she's had three babies."
Eventually the orgy wound down and the patio and pool lights were extinguished. Albrecht told Hanger and Lancing to sleep. "We'll wake you if anything interesting happens. Or when we need to be spelled."
Hanger slept for, by his watch, five hours before he was nudged awake.
"It's mostly quiet down there, but there are some rooms lit up and movement. I think they're delivering babies, although I may be wrong."
"Babies, plural?"
"Hell yeah." Lancing gave a jaw cracking yawn. "You saw how incredibly preggers they all were. And carrying on."
And indeed a lot of the windows in the right wing came and went over the course of the early hours of the morning, and in the mid morning eight of the men walked out past the pool and took the track to the tunnels. Unfortunately they passed up the trail to their home, and walked to the "dry brushy" tunnel. Hanger caught a discussion of breakfast, and whether they'd bring back any for the others.
"All their cooks had babies last night?" Hanger muttered. He looked at his watch. Almost noon, back home. "I hope to hell all those bodies they slung through the tunnel were alive."
"If they don't stop talking about hot pastries, I'm going to kill them, personally." Albrecht growled. "If we skimp, we can last three days out here, then we'll either have to risk one of the tunnels, or raid the mansion."
"Or find other people on this world." Hanger pointed up the hill. "Let's climb up there this evening, and look for other lights and roads and such."
"If we wanted to raid the mansion, right now would be the time. Eight of the fourteen men gone, most of the women in no shape to fight." Phillips nodded at the tunnel the men had taken. "We could get them first, before they come back. The labs said there was no radio frequency transmission through the tunnels, so they couldn't warn anyone."
Albrecht looked tempted, but finally shook her head. "And what if we captured them all? Do we ask them, pretty please to open a tunnel back to our home so we can put them in jail?"
"Oh. Damn. What do we do if they don't open a tunnel back home?"
"I don't know. Give me that newspaper. Maybe we should read up on the King and the Lunar Redoubt."
They spent the whole day reading and analyzing. The Lunar Redoubt was apparently a large and expensive resort on the Moon. A combined low gravity retirement community for the super rich and a casino apparently well infested with prostitutes, although there were no acknowledged brothels. The Question before the Parliament was the continuation of tax support for a space program that was mostly in support of vice and millionaire's retirement. The King was for the Space program, and emphasized science and tech advances in every speech. The Members of Parliament were trying to tiptoe between satisfying the voters and not angering the businessmen and lobbyists that contributed to their income.
"The more things change, the more they stay the same." Lancing muttered. "I was hoping for a war with Aliens, you know?"
Hanger nodded. "So the last place, the women bundle up, the men wear tunics and frankly it stunk to high heavens, and the Brushy place has hot pastries, and that lot went there in pants and shirts. If we get desperate, I vote for pastries."
Albrecht looked at the newspaper. "Yeah. I guess it depends on how much we do or don't want to make a splash. We can walk in and start claiming to be from a parallel world, hence the lack of ID and money and marketable skills and see if they are benevolent or paranoid. If the Brushy World is still using horses, it would be a step down in tech, but we probably wouldn't need ID, we could work for food immediately . . . I dunno, though. Best we scout it out and find out about civil rights, slavery, and begging you three's pardon, women's status there. Humph. It's not good any way you look at it."
The octet of men returned in the late afternoon, staggering a bit. Breakfast had apparently been followed by a liquid lunch.
They worked their way south to the highest point in the ridge that partially wrapped the tunnel sites. The view was worth the effort. The ocean stretched across the horizon, north and south the surf beat on rocky points. Between the mansion and the ocean side cliffs, cattle and horses grazed in meadows.
"Solar panels." Albrecht was studying the house. "No wires, no poles, no driveway, no roads."
"Can, umm, could parallel worlds not have any people on them?" Phillips bit his lip. "Maybe they just live here for the climate and the view, and go out to other worlds to rob and rape and buy their solar panels."
"And walk over to the next world for hot pastries whenever they want to."
"One big job a year, like that robbery, would probably keep them in luxury forever."
"Add the millions from book sales . . . they must have people permanently on those other worlds. Who published those books?" Hunter looked at Albrecht.
She nodded. "A mid-sized publisher. They were bought by a holding company, who strongly recommended all five of the books. We're still working on finding the owner of the holding company. He's pretty slippery. A financial adviser. No children. When his wife died, he quit, formed this company and started enjoying life according to the phone interviews. We haven't met with him, and given the weirdness, we figured we need to check that he really is who he claims to be."
"And on some other world they no doubt run an upscale pawn shop, specializing in jewelry. I wonder which one? There were only four tunnels." Lancing looked down the hill.
The tunnels were out of sight to them. Hanger could see three bright spots, if he squinted. "I'll bet they sell to the Lunar Redoubt people and buy their electronics there. Did any of those books involve space travel?"
Albrecht and Phillips shook their heads. "Nope. So maybe there are more tunnels, and they're just closed up like the one to our world."
The sun slowly sank, and they munched frugally while they watched the sunset. Lights sprang up around the mansion, and the pool. Nowhere else across the hills, up and down the coast. Tonight all the men were minding the kids. A few women joined them—the two who'd been carrying babies yesterday and the three who hadn't been obviously pregnant. No orgy tonight. As soon as the kids were worn out the adults took them inside and the lights went out.
From their hill top, there were no other lights in sight.
"Tomorrow night we'll see about raiding their kitchen, or possibly going hunting for pastries. Hanger, why don't you and I take the early watch tonight?" Albrecht stared down the hill. "How much is an entire world worth?"
Hanger nodded. "Think about how much they've spent getting to Mars. And it's an unlivable wasteland. If there are no indigenous people here, a whole world for the taking. How are the scientists doing, on making tunnels?"
"Poorly, but they've got a full scale test apparatus that should be ready to try in six months. Once we understand enough to aim the thing, we could do tunnels all over."
"Every nation could have a world of their own, hell every state could have one." Hanger sighed. "Mining companies would pay a lot for a pristine, unmined world. I hate to think of ruining a whole second ecology, though."
"Pollution controls are old tech. And Lancing recognized these trees. I wonder if there are extinct animals here? Passenger pigeons, polar bears and pandas." Albrecht chuckled. "Woolly mammoths and
sabretoothed tigers?"
"Umm, you know, I hadn't even thought about predators. I wonder what's out there?" Hanger listened carefully. A faint breeze through the trees. Frogs peeping. Something grunting way down the hill. "There were little birds all over during the day, squirrels. I remember some deer tracks, but I didn't actually see the deer."
"I guess our watch had better not just be on the mansion, just in case."
Hanger nodded. "Yeah, and I would love a campfire, right about now. And the next time I go chasing interdimensional criminals, I'm bring a sleeping bag."
But nothing tried to eat them in the night, and in the morning they slipped down hill again. They all eyed the brushy world tunnel as they walked by.
"Hot pastries," Albrecht muttered, and turned away. They walked around the corner and found themselves twenty meters from the raiders. Six men and three women falling suddenly quiet as they were spotted in turn.
"Stun them!" One of the men ran forward throwing up his hand. Lancing collapsed.
Hanger's first bullet spun the raider and dropped him. The others scattered into cover as Phillips grabbed Lancing and dragged him hastily back around the corner.
"Get him up the hill." Albrecht pointed at the tunnel. "We'll cover you. Meet us where we camped last night."
Phillips hoisted him up into a fireman's carry and staggered through the tunnel. Albrecht and Hanger retreated and dived through.
"Quick get around where they won't see us through there. If they think we're up the hill somewhere they won't try to . . . close . . . the . . . tunnel." Albrecht's quick orders trailed off as the audience registered. She flicked a look toward the tunnel and stepped aside. Hanger followed. Phillips braced himself under Lancing's weight.
"Dang. They gots der un cooridoor." The biggest of the scruffy looking group looked Albrecht up and down and smiled. "Haie, whot's a prutty laydee dune wit 'er oon cooridoor, eh?"
Hanger eyed the seven men and five women cautiously. "Sorry, we're not from around here. Where's the nearest town?"
"Gran town's jist dune there." A younger one jerked his thumb behind him and eyed Lancing. "He dead?" A huge horse loomed over his shoulder and eyed the limp body too.
Hanger hastily holstered his gun and checked. "No he's breathing fine." Albrecht was easing toward the back of the group, and they followed her lead, getting the locals between them and the tunnel.
The big one was looking it over, and one of the women joined him.
"There's some bad sorts on the other side. I wouldn't go through there if I was you." Hanger stumbled, trying to follow Albrecht while watching the locals. The big one stepped through—some people just took warnings the wrong way.
Albrecht got them out of sight behind some brush, and had Phillips put Lancing down in the shade of a scruffy tree. "He looks all right. Just stunned. All that man did was wave his hand."
"Oh sure, a stun spell." The young local had followed them. "Et'll wear off in an hour and he'll have a haid ache. Tyrone's getting' good at et. He practisizes on us."
It was recognizably English, if horribly accented.
"Magic World. Christ, we're all going to win our bets. At this rate." Phillips muttered.
"So, you guys in trooble? You in trooble with the guards?"
"No, with some outlaws. Although I don't know if your guards would be sympathetic."
"Huh. Well, if you'ah good guys, I 'spect you'll need t'talk t'm'cuin Mortimah. Captain Easterly, dat us. He's in t'King's Own, and he's a wizard. I'll go git him." The youngster swarmed up the harness on the big horse and trotted off.
Peering through the brush, Hanger watched the tunnel. The locals were coming and going, and two of the raiders stepped through and scanned up and down the road.
We're not here, just dry, dusty hills and brush.
They shrugged at each other and ducked back through the tunnel. The big local fellow came flying through, caught his balance and stalked right back through. Two others jumped in after him, and the women craned to look and then hustled through as well.
The tall black haired raider stepped through and looked around. Glared at the locals, shrugged. A raider woman came through behind him. "Shall I get Falchion out here to close it?"
"No. It's just these fools. We'll move it a little once they're gone." He frowned at the three young men hovering. "Get." They backed off, and finally turned to follow the horse.
The raiders turned and stepped back through the tunnel. After a long half hour a different raider woman, a redhead, stepped through and started shoving at the tunnel from the side. She shoved it slowly down the road, grunting a bit and cussing. She pushed it a couple of hundred meters, and then pushed it into the brush before stepping in and disappearing herself.
"Can you still see it?" Albrecht whispered.
"Yep. Plain as day."
"Good. Let's get out of here. I'm not sure we want to meet this Mortimah king's own captain or whatever that was."
Lancing was starting to twitch and blink, surely a good sign, so Hanger hitched his shoulder under Lancing' armpit, pulled his arm across his shoulder and staggered off down the road.
They made slow progress and were barely within sight of civilization before the youth on the big dark horse trotted back their way. A carriage followed. The pair of horses pulling the carriage stopped at a whoa from the driver.
The driver was close to two meters tall, and obviously muscular. Mousey hair, pale blue eyes. Dull, stupid eyes in a fancy uniform, blue with gold piping. Oh crap. A dumb cop. The bulk dismounted from the carriage easily, looking them over.
"I'm Captain Easterly, King's Own. Now what's this Lizard is telling me about a corridor and criminals?" Much less accent than the boy.
Probably related to someone important to be an officer.
Albrecht straightened and visible braced herself. "I am Agent Sommer Albrecht with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. In pursuit of criminals, we . . . seem to have gotten lost in some, umm, parallel worlds." Her voice trailed off uncertainly.
Bet he didn't understand a bit of that.
"Ah." The clod blinked at her. "Sounds like you need to speak to t'Dimension Cops."
Chapter Thirty-six
08 July, 2234 BN
Early Summer 1399 px
Comet Fall
Captain Easterly turned out to not only extremely bright, but well educated and almost breathtakingly matter of fact about their situation. He had them in the carriage, and with the assistance of a tunnel, in his office within the hour.
"The bad news is that our, well, the D-cops best spotter mixed it up with a tank last winter. The good news is, she's recovering and will be fine. She's unbelievably good at the dimensional magic, so I'm sure she'll get you home."
"Once she's recovered." Albrecht inhaled the coffee a younger soldier had fetched.
"T'highly magical, when they're badly injured, go into this healing sleep. Sometimes more than a year. But her family says she's spending more time awake, so she's nearly done. In t'mean time I'll introduce you to t'D-cops, you can talk to t'ambassadors and so forth, and when you get home you'll be just stuffed with information about how this all works." He snorted. "That's t'official line. T'unofficial one is that we just started this all last year, and t'D-cops have a staff of seven, one of whom has been injured."
"So these D-cops aren't the rigid Nazi's wielding an iron fist to prevent contamination of cultures I've read about in fiction?"
"Nope. We figure if we can stop most of t'wars we'll be doing well. These damned criminals of yours—actually I suspect they're ours—are an unwanted complication. Cultural contamination hasn't even made t'list." Easterly shoved back from his desk and pulled out a laptop computer.
Lancing choked.
"I know. It's a serious anachronism. We buy them from t'other Worlds. And solar battery chargers. Now, do these people look familiar?"
A mixture of still photos and drawings, quite familiar.
"We call them the, uh, Combat Group.
The women, umm, had no classical education, so they had no idea of what they were doing when they heard t'phrase 'Hors de Combat' and decided that should be their gang name. Some of them had been prostitutes. No, I am not kidding. T'Whores de Combat."
He scratched his head. "I expect our computers won't speak to yours, so let me print these out, and t'reports." He eyed them. "I should have offered to feed you, umm, I think this calls for the Tavern. They'll have rooms for you, and I'll fetch Xen and Garit, the current head D-cops. If they've got their little war under control, he'll be here really quick. If they don't, umm, he'll probably still get here sometime tomorrow."
A strikingly beautiful dark haired woman entered, sorting papers. "Why'd you print out the whole . . . " she stopped and eyed them.
"They're cops from another world. Tangled with t'Combat Group and wound up stranded here. I'm going to take them to t'Tavern , and then round up some troops to see if we can find their gate."
"Does Xen know?"
"Nope. He's next on my list. Why don't you go tell him what's up and that we'll be dining at t'Tavern."
"Right." She handed over the papers and left.
"Are you lot up to a five block walk or should I send for a carriage?"
"We'll walk." Albrecht followed him out.
The carriage had taken them from the small town they'd been approaching through what Easterly called a corridor, to a large city and a short drive to the security headquarters of the kingdom. Now they walked, and in the few blocks the buildings changed from official looking edifices to huge mansions to large mansions to normal mansions. Easterly led them up an alley. "A bunch of us have split a house up into apartments, and we've got a corridor to Harry's Tavern."
He waved to the guards as he walked into a small stable, and right into the back wall.
"It's an illusion." The man on guard was grinning. "Just walk."
Albrecht squared her shoulders, walked into the wall and disappeared. The men followed. "I think these are what we were calling tunnels."
"How come I can see through the illusions those the, umm, Combat people made, but not this one?" Hanger looked around another stable, a larger one, and then followed Easterly and Albrecht across a brick courtyard.