by Pam Uphoff
Scar shrugged. “Primary elections are the twenty-ninth of Rajab. The election is the twenty-fifth of Shawwal. The newly elected president—and councilors, governors and whatnot, all the way down—are sworn in on the twenty-ninth of Shawwal, so they have all of Ramadan to get organized for the first official session of the new council, right after the Eid.”
Nicholas nodded. “Tidy. Gets it all compacted into a single year.” He eyed Lucky Dave, and then Davos. Nodded. “We will move to this Versalle—is that a corruption of Versailles? Whatever. And while I sleep, I want you two to recover and check out this Directorate—and the rest of the World.”
An hour later, the “visitors” were chased out by a pair of doctors, but as soon as they left, Scar slipped back in and held up two chips. “So, here’s what happened to the first group of Rangpur survivors. And how Embassy started.”
It was . . . educational.
Three days of twice a day physical therapy, and Davos was declared ready for “outpatient PT.” Dave could have left at any time, but no one had tried to send him off. Just as well, he wouldn’t have left the commander so vulnerable. So they were—with many worried looks at the commander—released from the hospital and moved to this “Versalle” place.
Chapter Two
Next Best Thing to a Royal Palace
1 Nicholas 1413 yp
Versalle was a big step up from the hospital.
Lucky Dave followed Rael through the door as the experts helped Nicholas and Davos out of the big van. He wondered again at Rael’s uniform, black with purple piping, no sign of rank.
“Lucky Dave, since you’re the Prophet’s head bodyguard . . . I’ll give you guys the choice of the room between Nicholas’ suite and the working offices, or across the hallway from his door . . . or the other side where the guards coming and going have to pass you—although I’ve told them to go to the central stairs before they come up.”
Rael waved at a door marked STAIRS. Taped below it, an arrow labeled “Use other stairs.” Then an elevator, with an arrow and “Same. Behave. Nicely.”
“I’m afraid the ground floor is all offices, quite apart from not being very secure.” Crazy Redhead One pushed the elevator button. “The second floor is half offices, but they’re down at the far end.”
Lucky Dave looked at the door to the stairs. Gritted his teeth. “See you up there.”
Stupid, but . . . he made it up the first half flight normally . . . apart from the pain. Switched to using his left leg for the last part, but he did manage to beat the elevator. A long hallway lined with doors.
A guard halfway down noticed him immediately. Nodded.
Right, they’re briefed and will recognize all of us.
A large window at this end . . . he tapped and nodded at the sound. Very thick, possibly bullet proof, latches and hinges for an emergency exit . . . down to the roof of the covered entry below.
Good as a fire safety measure, but not terribly secure.
So . . . . Stairs and elevator doors on this side, a nice wide carved wooden door, very solid looking, across from the elevator. Further down, a cluster of four doors, two on each side.
And still further, another set of four.
Pretty standard office or hotel setup.
The elevator dinged and the door slid open.
“ . . . Presidential Director is, in theory, above the Interior and Exterior Directors. In practice they’re both pretty independent, but they do call Urfa when they need to pass something on to the president.” Rael pulled Nicholas’s wheelchair off the elevator.
The new fellow followed with Davos. No uniform, his plain medical outfit was starched and ironed, so it looked a bit better than what most of the medical people wore. “Avte” was embroidered on the shirt.
“Call me Vet,” he’d said, as he got Davos and the commander into wheelchairs at the hospital.
Rael pushed the button on the door across the hall.
It sprang open immediately. Umaya beamed on the other side. “Welcome home. Come in! We will be using these three rooms . . .”
A nice sitting room, with a small dining area near a sliding glass door to a balcony.
This building was not built during a war!
The adjoining room was a bedroom, luggage and boxes piled out of the way, and a connecting door to another bedroom.
“They will have to get past me, to get to him!” Umaya looked grim and determined.
Lucky Dave nodded, and eyed the doors. Solid bars across. Large windows, but no balconies, thank god. “Right, and the two doors across the hall?”
Rael nodded. “For you two, or you can take the next room.” She pointed at the side wall. “The connecting side doors can only be unlocked by an authorized person . . .”
Lucky Dave glowered at her and she giggled.
“Yes, I’m authorized.”
Lucky Dave looked back at Davos, who nodded.
“I’ll take that one.”
“Right, and I’ll take the room across the hall.”
Nicholas was sagging, and Umaya hastily grabbed a bottle of something that looked like chocolate milk. “Drink this, then you can get back to healing.”
He managed half of it before he nearly fell out of the chair. Lucky Dave helped get him into bed, then tossed his own stuff into “his” room. Helped Davos, who was looking pale, into his bed.
“And . . . now what the hell do I do?” He looked both ways of the hall.
Rael walked out of the commander’s suite and grinned. “Whatever you want. Perhaps starting with a tour? C’mon.” She headed down the hallway.
Lucky Dave hesitated . . . Nicholas is in a controlled compound with guards inside and out. He’s either safe—or a well-protected prisoner. So I need to start collecting intelligence.
He turned and limped after her.
“About half of this floor is empty. Both the President and the Director have living quarters and offices in the far side of the building, where official business is held.” She waved at the doors. “These are overflow offices, mostly belonging to analysts, including mine.”
She reached for a doorknob and Lucky Dave heard a click.
“Electronic locks?” Like in the Prophets’ tall tales of “Earth” that we didn’t believe?
“Yes, triggered by a security implant in my shoulder.” She reached over her shoulder and tapped a spot on the trapezius. “It’s my ID, my security pass, it can be tracked in some situations. It’s an . . . imposition . . . on our privacy, that you can either accept or reject. That bracelet they gave you at the gate does the same, but can be turned off or taken off.”
“You’re assuming me in that our?”
“Tentatively. Trust me, everyone is drooling at the thought of nabbing a trained Warrior for their organization.”
“That would be Davos. I’m not.”
She opened the door, stepped through and waved him in. “My daytime demesne. Horribly posh, and I love it.”
Lucky Dave looked around at the big windows, the paneling, hardwood floors with two bright rugs, the polished furniture, the huge TV. “I see why.”
Rael cleared her throat. “Lucky Dave . . . You tested as a Withione. Either Qamar was misinformed, or you have recently acquired a One power gene. Now, it might have been Xen, while he was doing things to your leg and shoulder, or Ra’d might have smuggled a dose in. We don’t really care . . . but technically, genetic engineering is illegal, ditto importation of potions to achieve the same ends. Mind you it’s perfectly legal to go Across and get it, then return.”
Lucky Dave scowled at her.
“So don’t mention it. Because in this narrow group, we really don’t care, but it is technically illegal. Just . . . if you happen to need some pointers, I coach beginners right after the morning run. You’re spiking a bit, and need some ‘shield work for beginners’ practice.”
He glared and tried to imagine he was holding all his thoughts inside. “I’m not entirely without magic. I can shield.”
“The useful stuff” was the swimming pool outside, and the kitchen in the basement, with cheerfully eager cooks who assured him that they stood ready to feed the Prophet at any time, day or night, that he awakened.
Back on the first floor, in the entrance hall that ran from front to back of the building, three floors high, Rael pointed at the—if he had the directions right—north wing.
“That’s the President’s and Director’s offices, and living quarters above. Your security bracelet isn’t cleared for anything past the conference room, which is right there.”
“Ah, so not total trust. That’s actually a relief. A sign of common sense.”
Of course the insane redhead just giggled. And led him down the south hallway.
I wonder what is directly below the Prophet’s chambers?
“We do realize that you . . . don’t know us, don’t know what the government of the Islamic Union grew into over the last millennia.” A flashing smile. “And that you don’t trust easily.”
Lucky Dave eyed the rooms they were passing, about half with open doors.
Offices. Well, it is a government, after all. And only a couple of ultra-posh ones like Rael’s. I really did “luck” into the best possible person to hitch a ride with.
“How did you find the bag under the seat? I thought I’d snuck in rather well.”
“You did. Umm, Ryol is the granddaughter of Wolfgang Oldham, who created the bags for the Prophets before they were marooned . . . Do you know what I’m talking about?”
The door at the end of the hall led out to a covered driveway. The van that had brought them here barely an hour ago was gone.
Lucky Dave swallowed. “Yes. I’m not used to everyone else knowing about the Prophets’ real history. Oh . . . could she see it?”
“Yep. Mind you she’s just learned how to see and manipulate dimensional phenomenon over the last year and a half. So it’s pretty new to her. Well, she hit on the possibility of finding any of the lost Bags of the Prophets as a summer project. So we went to Rangpur to take pictures for her report, and look and see if there were any more bags there.
“When we passed you on the road, she spotted yours. We assumed you were a local, who’d found it, and recognized it for what it was and were headed for Calcutta where you could sell it for a lot of money.” She giggled again. “It wasn’t until you stole my car that I realized that you were fitting the ‘escaping from enemy territory’ role rather well.”
Lucky Dave sighed. “I heard you talking. Some Spanish words, a bit of an accent. I assumed Greater Argentina had let us and the Chinese pound each other to bits, then stepped in to scoop up the prize.”
“Ah. That explains a lot. Both of us making wrong assumptions.”
Lucky Dave hesitated . . . “Don’t answer, if it’s too personal, but is that,” insane maniac, “girl your daughter or your niece?”
“Oh, well . . . as you saw in the stupid movie, I was badly injured in the assassination attempt. I was in a coma for two months. I hadn’t realized I was pregnant, but the doctors told my parents that the metabolic demands of a pregnancy were shrinking my chances of survival. They recommended an abortion. My sister was there—she was in the process of divorcing her fifth husband, but still hadn’t had any children—and she had a better idea.
“Embryo transplant. Only about a twenty-five percent chance of it working, but . . .” Rael shrugged. “For her it worked. Twins, by the way.”
“The world is doomed.”
“My convalescence was long . . . well she raised the kids, and they called me aunt. Now that they’re older they’re getting more inclusive or something.”
“You don’t have to lie about it.” Lucky Dave eyed her. Lots of emotional turmoil, there.
She stopped and stared at him. “Oh, I’m going to have to be careful around you, aren’t I?”
She puffed out an unhappy breath. “Raod was so sure I’d want the babies back, that she swore the parents to secrecy and . . . well the kids and I all found out about me being their genetic mother just last year. The dust is beginning to settle.”
“Ouch.” Lucky Dave stopped and eyed the setup ahead. Three large buildings, not quite in line, so he could see a bit of all of them.
“Barracks up front and then the barns, with a large covered arena behind them.”
“Ah.” He got his feet back in motion and followed her into the barracks.
H shaped, with four wings, the fat middle looked to contain a kitchen and mess area, and a gym, complete with a couple of square Martial Arts mats, currently in use.
Rael rose up on her toes . . . “Ah. Isakson is running a training session. Would you like to see? They’re usually over by now. I wonder who messed up.”
A man in a uniform turned and nodded. “Riot control. A demonstration against re-registration got out of control, a dozen ran up the steps to Government House and the boys made a complete hash out of intercepting and blocking them.”
A major’s palm tree insignia. But he looks a little . . . scruffed up. Rael noticed, too.
“So of course, Isakson started with me.”
“Oh, they must have really blown it.” Rael turned to Dave. “Major Eppa, this is Captain Dave ibn Daiki of the Islamic Union Army. Lucky Dave, Major Eppa is the commander of the Black Horse Guards.”
“Rael, I hear you! Get over here!” Isakson’s voice, sounding pissed.
“Oh, now I’m in trouble. C’mon, Lucky Dave, you’ll enjoy this.”
A man in a gi was limping out of the square as they walked up.
Isakson grunted and pointed at Lucky Dave. “Six weeks, and then I’ll get you out here to show these modern softies how to fight.” He crooked a finger at Rael, and shook his head when she reached an arm around her back. “If you’re walking around with your little sneak gun, come fight with it.”
“Ouch.” Rael walked out and bowed to Isakson, who bowed back. Not a proforma bow, but definitely the bow he gave people he respected.
A bell chimed and they blurred into motion. Lucky Dave reached for Speed just to watch them trading blows.
Isakson, for the first time Lucky Dave had ever seen, was up against someone as fast as he was, and then Rael blurred again, a spike of extra Speed that got her in and out of Isakson’s longer reach, with a solid blow to the old man’s diaphragm.
Blocked punches and kicks and throws. Rael got through again, this time a face punch and somehow managing a foot hooking a knee and down he went, sweeping his legs. She jumped over them and Isakson heaved up and his hand grabbed her foot.
She arched backwards in midair, her left leg sweeping up to kick his wrist and she bent further backwards to get her hands down, completed her back flip, enough off balance to slip down to crouch on one knee, and divert a series of kicks from a strong base.
Then back on her feet and driving in kicking . . . the bell dinged.
They staggered apart. Isakson bowed to her. Rael returned the bow, and limped off the pad.
She walked over to a bench and eased down, stuck out her right leg and rotated the foot. “I swear that man has the hardest damned grip.” She stripped off her jacket, then leaned forward and reached around to the small of her back and tugged a holstered gun off her belt. “At least I only landed on it once. I’m going to be so bruised.” She placed it on the bench.
Lucky Dave eyed the gun. Eleven centuries. How much have guns changed?
Rael nodded at it. “Go ahead.”
He drew the gun, keeping the business end pointed down. Not a make or model I’ve ever seen, but no big changes. Safety is on, magazine release here, clear the chamber. Smooth as silk. Too small for my hand. “Nice. And not too different from what I’ve had.” He reloaded it, checked tha
t the safety was on, chambered a round, and reholstered it.
“So . . . do you beat Isakson regularly?”
“Umm, maybe twenty percent of the time? Less, probably.” She rubbed her back. “And I rarely fight in uniform, but, well, I can’t argue with the logic.”
“Ha! So you just grumble.” Isakson stalked up. “Will you be here tomorrow morning?”
“Yep. I’m back on duty at midnight.”
“Good. We will demonstrate how to deal with rioters, and,” he nodded to Major Eppa, “see how to change the ceremonial rotation so there is always at least one and preferably two men who can do large shields on duty at all times.”
Rael winced. “Should I look at the security vids, or leave the poor fools some dignity?”
“Watch it.” Isakson growled. “Pity we can’t just shoot idiots anymore. That would have stopped the rioters cold.”
Eppa snorted. “I think I’m glad we’re too soft for that sort of response. Decadent Modernists that we are.”
Rael hooked the holster back on her belt and grabbed her jacket. “Well, continuing the tour . . . Those two wings are Black Horse Guards. The shorter wing over there is Princesses . . . umm, that is to say, highly trained, highly magical women guards. And the long wing is the horseboys on the ground floor, and Directorate analysts and agents on the second floor.”
“Like you.”
“Yes, but since I started out as a Princess, I sort of wound up staying in that wing. Anyhow there’s more of us agents and analysts, but a lot of us live elsewhere.” She shrugged. “I’ve actually got a house, but I’m on call so often, I’ve kept the room here.
“And a good thing, since my brother-in-law will be starting a job in Interior Relations here in Paris, at the first of the year, and they’re going to be living in the house until they buy a place themselves.”
“With your twin menaces?”
“And two more of their own. So it’ll be a houseful.” She frowned. “Do you know? I think I need an excuse to visit the Princess School, Real Soon Now.”