Guardsman

by Pam Uphoff

  Guardsman

  Pam Uphoff

  Copyright 2019 Pamela Uphoff

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN

  978-1-939746-57-3

  This is a work of fiction.

  All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional.

  Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  Image credit: ID 128685142 © MerryDesigns | Dreamstime.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Helpless in a Strange New World

  Chapter Two

  Next Best Thing to a Royal Palace

  Chapter Three

  Awake in the Future

  Chapter Four

  A Little Slice

  Chapter Five

  History through Vids

  Chapter Six

  The In Group

  Chapter Seven

  And Neck Deep in Politicians and Killers

  Chapter Eight

  The Hive Mind

  Chapter Nine

  Things to do

  Chapter Ten

  New Year’s Party

  Chapter Eleven

  The Multiverse

  Chapter Twelve

  A Nice Little House in Paris

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lists

  Chapter Fourteen

  Presidential Agent

  Chapter Fifteen

  A wonderful day at school

  Chapter Sixteen

  Driving

  Chapter Seventeen

  Summer and School

  Chapter Eighteen

  Recruited

  Chapter Nineteen

  Resigned . . . so to speak

  Chapter Twenty

  Announcements at Midnight

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Organizing Analyzing

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Relatives

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The Rise and Fall of a Rabble Rouser

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Acceptance

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Primaries

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Last stretch

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Directorate School

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Campaign

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Into the Lion’s Den

  Chapter Thirty

  Cleanup

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Election Day

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Election

  Chapter Thirty-three

  A Party with One Winner and A Whole Bunch of Losers

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Hand Off

  Tenuously connected scene . . .

  Excerpt from an upcoming release

  Other Titles by Pam Uphoff

  Chapter One

  Helpless in a Strange New World

  24 Yusef 1413

  I am eleven centuries in the future.

  Lucky Dave rotated his shoulder, circled his right arm. No longer dying of infected open fractures and malnutrition.

  Penniless. Massively ignorant of the culture, the government . . . everything.

  Time to fill the knowledge hole. Worry about the rest, later.

  He eyed his shin. The nice straight bone, the scars that looked weeks old, that had been oozing septic wounds yesterday. “Well, I can’t argue with the medical techniques. So that guy, the medgician? It sounded like he wasn’t part of the staff here?”

  Ra’d snorted. “You need a history lesson.”

  “Badly. So the Crazy Redheads had Spanish accents . . .”

  “Because after the One led the Islamic Union to world-wide victory we split up into three thousand clans, and each ruled a district, and they deliberately married into the local political families, and then a few generations later went back to inbreeding to reacquire the magical strength. Rael and her daughter are Montevideo Clan, in the Uruguay division of the South American Region.”

  “But they’re Oners.” Lucky Dave eyed the other man.

  Not the focused twelve-year-old I taught to shoot. Nor the fierce fifteen-year-old trainee. Thirty-one years old. Looks like his Dad.

  “Yes. In fact, Rael is one of the new Warriors.” A sharp grin. “Isakson is the trainer of the Black Horse Guards, a branch of the military that serves directly under the President. To protect him and his family, and to serve as fast response troops in an emergency. They overlap a bit with the Presidential Directorate people. Also bodyguards, plus analysts and agents. Rael is their top field agent, answering directly to Director Urfa and President Orde.”

  Lucky Dave pinched the bridge of his nose. “These names . . .”

  “Hideous, aren’t they? They’ve assigned letters to all the variations of the twelve chromosome insertions. Parents—or in our case ourselves—pick four of our letters for our official, legal, names. I thought it was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard, and chose. W. Q. L. W.”

  Lucky Dave paused . . . “Wuk Loo? Rhymes with . . .”

  “Yes. In retrospect, not one of my brighter ideas. Has a registrar come around yet?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed.”

  Ra’d looked thoughtful. “Captain . . .”

  “Oh, that’s bad. Formal all of a sudden.”

  “Xen Wolfson, the medgician who fixed you, is a genetic engineer. Illegal here, of course. But he could add the One gene to your X chromosome . . . if you want it.”

  “Want it? Of course I want it! . . . But it’s illegal?” Lucky Dave eyed him. Do I want it badly enough to break the laws of a nation—an Empire—that I am going to have to live in?

  Ra’d shrugged. “I’ll be right back. In the meantime . . . How about a vid about an important event? Fictionalized, but of all the vids about it, this one is the closest to what actually happened. It’ll introduce you to a lot of the current government structure.”

  Lucky Dave watched as he popped a little tab into a slot on the bottom edge of the TV.

  Then he brought over a black plastic rectangle. Buttons all over it. “The remote control for the screen. Pretty intuitive. These buttons for broadcast stations, push this one to play the vid, the movie. This icon to pause, here to stop, reverse . . . You’ll get it. Or call for the cute nurse.” Ra’d winked.

  And disappeared.

  Lucky Dave stared at the empty space. “And teleportation. I think I’m going to like the future, once I get used to it.”

  He settled back with the remote control and watched a wholly improbable flick about a groom from a fancy stable becoming a professional horse show rider, and then getting hired as a trainer for the president’s daughter.

  Ra’d popped back out of nowhere, and handed Lucky Dave a little vial.

  Lucky Dave paused the movie, and eyed the red liquid.

  “I have no idea if you can make it work, but these modern idiots set a great store by merely having the gene. Otherwise you’ll be in constant trouble, punching out fools who think you’re barely human.”

  Lucky Dave gave a skeptical shrug and downed it. “Bleah. Not nearly as much fun as that healing potion.”

  “The Joy Juice is also illegal, although some Warriors are permitted to carry it.”

  “Not all?”

  “The best fighters in the world are not always the wisest.”

  “Ah . . . yes.” Lucky Dave looked back at the TV. “Just tell me this isn’t going to be a tragedy, or worse, a romance. The president’s daughter isn’t going to marry a jumped up groom is she?”

  Ra’d laughed. “Nope. Keep watching—oh, and the redhead guard? Yes, that’s the Rael you know, and are sensibly wary of.”

  He disappeared again.

  “You know . . .”

  Lucky Da
ve turned at the sleepy voice. Eyed his brother. “How you feeling, Davos?”

  Barely a day, and we’ve gone from desperate and dying by inches to . . . not hale, but healed enough that complete recovery is in sight.

  “Tired . . . Weak. Six weeks of lying there healing. But . . . I’m healed. Damn, my guts feel good.” A low chuckle. “And once I’m out of physical therapy, I’m going to learn that teleportation trick.”

  “Yeah . . .” I wonder if that potion will actually work? Lucky Dave turned his head the other direction. Commander Nicholas One was deeply asleep. A healing trance. I think.

  He looked back at the TV and tapped the remote to continue the absurd story. “I’ll have to find out how much they had to exaggerate to get this idiocy.”

  Davos snickered. “They think a jumped up groom is a spy from another political party? And they don’t really care?”

  Lucky Dave laughed. “Yeah, I’d have said an Argentinian sliding in and seducing wives for military information. What any of them would know about that is hard to say. Political ploys or election rigging might be more their field.”

  And finally some action! A totally improbable attack on the President’s daughter while she was out riding. “Aircars? In the woods? Oh good grief.”

  “How do they even work? Doesn’t look like vertical fans. Magic? Are they advanced enough for anti-gravity? Hideous power drain either way.” Davos shook his head. “I think they made this part up.”

  Lucky Dave nodded. “Just to, what? Show that the groom is hiding his magic? They ought to have turfed him out even faster than they hired him!”

  They watched in silence, shaking their heads.

  Davos shrugged. “Stupid plot. And such a blatant, public assassination attempt? Stupid.”

  Lucky Dave stopped the movie at a particularly lurid shot. “But it did have one redeeming feature. I got to see the Crazy Redhead get shot. Now how are they going to wrap this up . . .”

  He broke off at the noise from the hallway, a loud voice “. . . my husband! And Jadida needs to see hers! It’s been fifteen years, and here is Ali, practically grown and his father a stranger . . .”

  Davos sat up suddenly, running hands through his hair, pulling the blankets straight and looking at his shirt, which happened to be all he was wearing . . .

  A second shrill voice. “But he’s not my husband! He died . . . I’m, I’m married!”

  Oh shit!

  Davos froze.

  A crowd of strangers erupted through the door.

  No, not strangers. The wives and children from Rangpur—years older.

  Sixteen years . . . and Jadida is no longer the pretty nineteen-year-old who captured Davos’s heart. At . . . forty, she’s five years older than he is, and being what they call a Halfer now, it shows.

  And . . . Fatina and Mona. Fatina must be close to fifty, and Mona’s over forty. Jack’s and Lucas’s wives.

  He caught their hopeful gazes and shook his head. Sorry, sorry, they didn’t make it.

  He looked at Jadida. She was pale as a ghost. Or should I say, she looks like she’s looking at a ghost?

  “I thought you were dead,” she whispered. “When I turned thirty, I decided I should marry and have more children. Mark has been a good father to Ali.” She looked up at the tall youth behind her. “But we were not blessed with children.”

  Davos looked at her, at the boy. “I . . .”

  “I thought you were dead for years before I could even think of marrying again . . . Allah has cursed me with barrenness for my sins.”

  “Nonsense!”

  Lucky Dave started and turned.

  Nicholas was not just awake, he was on his feet. “Warriors know that we may die unknown, and that our wives will not wait for us forever. To expect that would be cruel.”

  He reached out to steady himself against the wall, trailing tubes and wires. “This is what you will do, Jadida. You will sleep separately from this man you have married. You will visit Davos in public places, have meals with him and talk to him. In one month, you will decide which man is to be your husband and which man will be divorced.”

  Jadida bowed her head. Davos swallowed, nodded.

  She was his first and only wife. And his son has been raised by another man.

  Nicholas was looking beyond them, at the rest of the crowd, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Umaya. You’ve grown into a beautiful woman.”

  Daughter of the Prophet Victor, granddaughter of the Prophet Carl. I remember the girl who married her hero the day after she turned eighteen. And now she looks all dewy eyed, but definitely a woman grown. Nearly fifty, looks two decades younger.

  As she slipped up close to him, Lucky Dave raised his voice. “He has broken ribs, careful how you hug him.”

  Nicholas reached carefully with his left arm and pulled her close. “I am healing fast, now that we’re here. But I am going to have to sleep longer, probably all year.”

  Umaya nodded. “My house is not secure enough. I will make arrangements for a safe place.” She turned her head. “Perhaps for all three of you, until you are recovered.”

  Lucky Dave eyed her. “You can do that? I’d have thought you women and children would have faced hardships . . .” he stopped at a masculine chuckle.

  The Warrior Isak ibn Isak elbowed through the crowd of teenagers, hanging back behind their mothers.

  “Bah. Once we talked that disgusting thing in Makkah into some semblance of common sense, the president's people saw that we were well off.”

  Umaya nodded. “Indeed. Call the Director and ask if the Prophet Nicholas and his two men may be housed at Versalle, and mention that they will all be needing medical care. And that the Prophet will mostly sleep for the next year.”

  Isakson just grinned. “Already done. As soon as the hospital releases them. And there are already guards here . . . who fortunately recognized us, so we didn’t get shot barging in here.”

  “Hmph! As if they don’t know all of us!” Umaya tossed a glance over her shoulder.

  The commander frowned at the old Warrior.

  “Yes, they are protecting you. No, they are not keeping you here. You are free to leave at any time—as far as they are concerned. But I will make sure you are behaving sensibly and staying until the doctor approves of you leaving.”

  Nicholas sighed. “So . . . we won and we could have come out anytime?”

  Isakson shook his head. “It took us another two centuries. And I suspect the medical care would have been less . . . able to deal with the injuries that Ra’d has briefed me on.”

  Lucky Dave rolled his shoulder again. “Who the hell was that fellow? Xen Wolfson, they called him.”

  The old Warrior grunted. “You need a history lesson.”

  “Everyone keeps saying that, but they never deliver.” Lucky Dave glanced around the group. Davos was talking quietly to Ali, Jadida hanging back, silent tears running down her face. Lucky Dave winced and looked back at Isakson. “So?”

  “So.” Isakson nodded, and looked at the commander. “Two years after the Orange Team was lost while exploring through a dimensional gate . . .”

  Nicholas’s eyes flashed. “What?”

  “. . . all the genetically engineered people in North America were exiled. Not just the Tellies, but everyone with any genetic engineering at all. They were parceled out between five different cross dimensional worlds. Fourteen centuries ago. Here, once we won the wars, we researched and developed trans-dimensional gates . . . two centuries ago? Something like that.”

  He frowned at the commander. “And I see you are fading, so I will just say that we have met people from one of the Exile Worlds called Comet Fall, and eight or nine of the original Tellies are still alive. Wolfgang Oldham, and others you will know. Here, only Emre survives, of all the Prophets.”

  He stepped forward and grabbed the Prophet as he sagged. “Back to bed with you. Details later.”

  He supported the commander back into his bed and le
t Umaya take over.

  The TV caught his eye and he grinned. “I see you are doing research. Have you gotten to the part where they realize Endi Dewulfe was a spy from Comet Fall?”

  Lucky Dave laughed. “I thought that looked more like military espionage than dirty politics. So how long ago was that?” He pointed at the TV, frozen at the end of the big fight.

  “Seventeen years, a year before we emerged. President Orde is still in office and Director Urfa is still his right hand man. Izzo is now the Director of External Relations. Rael is the top field agent, reporting directly to Urfa and Orde.” Isakson, damn him, chuckled. “And you once again failed to trust your luck, didn’t you?”

  Lucky Dave crossed his arms and glared. “Yes, I do realize that the first person I had any meaningful interactions with turned out to somehow be the ideal person to get us to the medical care we needed. I did hope the pair of ditzy redheads was what I needed—rich enough to help, dumb enough to not realize what I was.”

  Isakson chuckled, and reached up to tap the TV. The spy frozen in the act of beheading someone with a big sword he’d pulled out of nowhere. “That is the father of the younger ditzy redhead.”

  “Huh, they didn’t execute him as a spy?”

  “No. Finish watching the show. You’ll see.” Isakson grinned.

  “Don’t tell me he’s a hero. How many of those disgraced wives were beheaded?”

  Isakson laughed. “None! That’s not allowed, these days. Although one fellow did attempt to murder his wife and make it look like suicide, but the doctors got to her in time. Now, rest and learn.” The old Warrior shooed everyone out.

  The nurse brought three trays in. Eyed the screen over the commander’s bed and took one away.

  Lucky Dave poked at the tiny . . . something with noodles . . . wolfed down the over-cooked green beans. The yellow stuff was apple sauce. He refrained from licking the bowl. Ate the noodle stuff, drank the hot coffee . . . “I don’t suppose I can have another?”

  The nurse stuck her head in. “That’s the recovery sized meal. We’ll see how you do, before we challenge your digestive system with large amounts.”