by Pam Uphoff
Isakson chuckled. “Weasel! Find the feed from their speakers’ podium.”
And there she was up on the truck, handcuffing a man twice her size. And Scar and a couple of the others he’d met at the hospital were looming over several other people. Yep, it looks like they have Ycrw and Insa. Not handcuffed. Probably to their disappointment, it’d make a better visual.
“Pan the crowd.” Isakson ordered. “Look for . . . stop at that one. Yes, Ra’d and Ebsa are grabbing agitators, people who were whipping up anger, to get people to physically attack Government House.”
The struggling knot in the crowd disappeared.
“They teleported five people.” Qamar pouted. “Ra’d makes it look so easy!”
Back at the wall, anger had turned into laughter, and it did indeed look like people were throwing themselves onto the shields for the sheer fun of it.
“Worse than kids on ice.”
The crowd as a whole, lacking motivating speeches and agitators, were drifting off, clearly realizing that the protest was over, and people were getting arrested . . . or at least disappeared.
Lucky Dave frowned at the screen, then looked over at the nearest guards. “I’m lacking context here. Do they really care about having a Prophet in the family tree? Which anyone with even a single insert would demonstrably have, power gene or not. How can they be anti-genetic engineering, but pro-Oners? You all have engineered genes, don’t you?”
“Same as you. Thing is,” the man talking was a tough, fit-looking thirtyish, dark-haired with a dusky reddish complexion. He nodded at the screen. “Oners, right now, are an elite seven percent of the population. They want to keep it that way, not share the power with a bunch of jumped up Natives.”
“Huh. We called them the Multitude. And we were trying to spread the engineered genes as far and wide as we could.” Lucky Dave stuck out his hand. “Dave. Or Wtve, if you want to pretend that’s a name.”
“Foo. Because W, T, F, U was not terribly amusing to anyone but my parents.”
“Not nice.”
More names circulated, Oldy who clearly had Asian ancestry, and Ahsi who looked mostly Caucasian. And Itsy, who was so average he was hard to describe.
Davos jerked a thumb at the screen. “So is there a government lab doing genetic work? Or are they preaching ‘racial purity’ and not marrying Multitude and Natives?”
Oh. Shit. Ra’d . . .
The locals all swapped blank looks.
Qamar snickered. “I told you about Disco. They do genetic engineering, and the One has allowed limited use at the request of Homestead. Homestead is a World we found a hundred and fifty years ago; they were late industrial, and just loved our magifacturing. They petitioned to join the Empire, encouraged intermarriage, and now they’re going for the genetic engineering.”
Foo nodded. “I’m a quarter Zolt, from Homestead. Those guys just hate me.”
Lucky Dave nodded. “I see. And even though it doesn’t take anything away from the Oners here, those guys out there protesting don’t want anyone else to have special status.”
Oldy nodded. “Half of them want to outlaw genetic engineering absolutely, half will be satisfied if the newly engineered just can’t be re-tested and registered as a Oner.”
Oh. Ra’d saw this coming and got me the power gene before I was registered. So I’ve slipped in under the radar. Which is good for me, however it still leaves everyone else out in the cold. Assuming it even works. Does anyone know?
“But can an adult who grew up without power, use it?”
I had training, to use the weak power of my Y gene. Will that transfer to the strong power gene?
“I’ve heard that some can.” Ahsi scowled at the screen. “No matter what Councilors Crow and Insane spout. Probably depends on whether they have any other genes. I’ll bet Halfers can do it.”
Itsy snorted. “If the With- Near- Clos- and Serv- designations were indications of abilities, it would be sensible to make them prove they could work at that level. But it’s just social status bullshit. So it really doesn’t matter.”
And these rioters? These aren’t the downtrodden wanting an opportunity. These are privileged assholes who want to keep the lower classes in their place.
And, I suppose, not taking their jobs, whatever it is they do. Did Qamar say . . . Magifacturing? Magic manufacturing? And medicine. I’ve seen that.
Davos was looking thoughtful. “So what would someone, say, a Halfer, have to do to get the power gene?”
Qamar looked around, brightening. “Oh! Jadida and Mona could . . .” She stopped . . . “Davos? I . . .”
“She’ll choose.” Davos looked away, shrugged. Caught the curious glances, and shrugged again. “My wife waited nine years after my presumed death, then married. It is a difficult situation.”
Lucky Dave sighed. “He means utterly shitty, but he was raised to be polite.”
“That sucks.” Itsy thumped Davos’s shoulder. “You don’t kill unfaithful wives, do you?”
Davos shot up out of his chair. “She was not unfaithful! She was a widow . . . by law. She thought she was in reality . . . Hell.” He sagged suddenly and sat down. “She’ll choose. And . . . that asshole had better not even think about hurting her.”
Lucky Dave cleared his throat. “Getting back to business, and having nothing whatsoever to do with changing the subject . . .” He pointed at the screen. “What sorts of jobs do those people do, and are they really threatened by a sudden influx of people with magic?”
Snickers.
“They’re mostly low level government workers. They try to play political one-upmanship at a low level, and have hopes of doing favors for their superiors to get promotions and raises and invites to all the right parties.”
“Good Grief. The riot of the brown nosers.”
Foo’s brow wrinkled. “The what?”
“Brown. Nosers. From kissing ass . . . not literally, but as a figure of speech.” Lucky Dave nodded at the dawning amusement on their faces.
Qamar was snickering. “I’d forgotten that insult. But it really fits way too many Oners. I think I approve of loosening up genetic engineering laws and re-registration. Ha! Jadida and Mona can go to Embassy and ask for the One gene.”
The Halfer wives. The other four had power already. Dad explained about recessive genes . . . and why mom had no power, and, when I was eighteen, why I still couldn’t collect power. I had the Y power gene, but it was weak. There’s very little I could do. That hasn’t changed. Yet.
“I need to go back to school. And relearn everything.” Dave glanced at the screen. “Movies, vids, are not adequate, even though they are getting us grounded PDQ.”
Raised eyebrows.
“Pretty. Darned. Quick.”
“You think?”
“Well I know how the government is organized, the names of some high office holders, but I keep picking up little things that are taken for granted but are completely opaque to me. For instance there’s a lot different about medicine these days. And what the heck is a docbox? A first aid kit? And then there’s magifacturing? What do you make with magic? And teleporting? How does that work?”
“Teleporting is new, only about a dozen people can do it.” Qamar glanced at the screen. “And it looks like most of them were called in for this.”
“Oh? So it was in fact a display of power by the authorities, just . . . not brute force.”
Foo snorted. “Quality over quantity. Worked, too.”
“Yeah.” Lucky Dave nodded. “Rael said she teaches beginning magic in the mornings. I think tomorrow I’ll start taking magic lessons all over again, from the very beginning.”
Davos looked puzzled . . . then eyed him with raised eyebrows. Said nothing.
And tackled him as they walked back to the mansion.
“Was it a good idea to do something illegal, the first bloody day we’re here?”
“Can you think of any reason I wouldn’t leap at the chance to be able to do magic?
Real magic like all the rest of my siblings, my childhood friends?”
“Did you even think about it? Ask about side effects? Did you know it was illegal?”
“No, no, yes. Now just shut up, and maybe your wife can get it too, and stop being treated like a second class citizen.”
Davos grabbed his arm to pull him around . . . Lucky Dave grabbed his brother before the idiot hit the ground.
“Let’s give it a month or two before we start fighting like a couple of little boys. You know the prejudice against people without power had already started back before we . . . travelled in time. It looks like we’ve arrived at an interesting time in history. And I know what side I’m on.”
Davos glared. “Jadida’s . . .”
“Had seventeen years of life without you. Woo her, you idiot.” Lucky Dave spotted a car coming in the gate . . . “Starting right now.”
“Oh . . . dammit, how can I impress her when I’m so weak?”
“Be kind and gentle. And sit down before you fall down.”
Davos swallowed and walked to meet her halfway. Stalled out a few meters away. “We shouldn’t . . . we should stay in public . . .”
She turned her head away. “That doesn’t matter, now. Mark is packing up and leaving. He said, he said he’d have the marriage annulled, and I’d best be glad to be getting nothing out of it—he’d half a mind to sue for all the money he’d put into the house in repairs and, and . . . that he’d been thinking of divorcing me anyway.”
Davos stepped closer to her. “I know, I realize, I’ve not been here for you, that I’m . . . Jadida . . . may I start again? May I woo you and hope to revive . . .”
She stepped up to him and threw her arms around him. “I never stopped loving you. I just thought that you were dead, and that I had to get on with life.”
He pulled her close and laid his cheekbone on her hair. “We were in the bag for six weeks, and my worst worry was you and Ali. What could have happened to you. Because . . . in the bag, by the time Dave had sewn me up, after setting his own leg, after tending to Nicholas . . . I knew that years had gone by . . . and whatever had happened to you was done and irredeemable.”
“No, we were in Isakson’s bag, hidden.”
“And as time went by I realized that I’d never see you again.”
“But here we both are.”
Lucky Dave eyed them, eyed Davos’s shaky knees. Shook his head. “I really hate to break up a love fest here, but I think we ought to get Davos inside and sitting down before he collapses. Jadida? He was gutted, and fighting infection for six weeks. He couldn’t stand, couldn’t exercise at all . . .”
He half carried Davos off the elevator. Umaya stuck her head out and beamed when she spotted Jadida supporting Davos. “Come in here, sit on the couch.”
By the time Lucky Dave had his brother settled, Umaya was setting down a tray loaded with a teapot, cups, and munchies. She eyed the pair, then pointed at Dave and moved her finger toward the door.
Excellent idea.
Lucky Dave headed for the front door, while Umaya strode through the connecting door and closed it behind her.
Dave closed the front door behind him, with a sigh of relief.
One problem solved.
Now I just need a good history book.
And one of those nifty little pocket computers everyone seems to have.
And magic lessons.
Magic!
Damn. I think I’m going to like this future.
He headed down the hallway to see if anyone knew if there was a library in the building.
Chapter Three
Awake in the Future
15 Shaban 1413
Lucky Dave muttered a threat under his breath and hit the undo icon. “I. Hate. Comps.” He dropped a glare on his brother, which just increased his snickers.
Davos grinned. “I do have an unfair advantage. Jadida’s quite good with these things, and Ali’s a wizard . . . a term they really ought to change, given the Comet Fall usage for some of their magicians.”
Six weeks of regular exercise had Lucky Dave’s leg, shoulder, and arm in a much improved state, if not as strong as they’d been before he’d been shot. It’s going to take a couple more months to be entirely recovered. So learning everything else before I’m fit for other duties is a good idea.
Not that I’m not on duty already. But sitting on my ass staring threateningly down the hall is only good until there’s a problem. Then I get to try to stop it and hope I’m recovered enough to do it successfully.
A month of regular interaction with the Black Horse Guard and the Presidential Directorate had just about persuaded him that excessive vigilance wasn’t needed. He was the last line of defense, not the sole protector of a Prophet surrounded by potential enemies.
A world, a freaking Empire! Not actively at war, but threatened enough to keep a standing army. So big they argue about how many worlds are a part of the Empire, and how many are simply owned by it. Fourteen for sure, twenty more possible, thousands in the catalogue of places visited. The commander is a delightful relic, a respected freaking MYTH!
Teleportation. Genetic Engineering. Those Left Behind.
And a power gene for me. Which is just sitting there, doing nothing.
He sighed, and put the blinking stupid arrow where he wanted to add another point, clicked on it, and then started typing.
Battle of Rangpur After Action Report. Prophets save me!
They want Davos and me to write our parts, then interview Isakson and Ra’d. Not needed—they’d both written their own, years ago. And not shared it with anyone. And eventually they’ll get the commander’s version.
The historians are going to have a blast with these.
Now if I could only intimidate the Guards like Isakson . . . no. I don’t want to be a teacher. I want to be an officer in the army . . . except this isn’t my army.
It is my nation, though. Victorious, and changing its name to reflect the new reality.
Islam is still on top . . . but so massively tolerant that no one notices.
An Empire so solid and confident that it can be criticized in the news . . . media . . . and shrug it off. Answer questions. A government that is trusted when it says “Can’t answer due to security concerns.” and “We kept it secret, so you wouldn’t panic. But our entire world is not going to die.”
And riot over loss of exclusive status. And apparently that’s going to get tested in court as some of the idiots Rael and company arrested are going to use that as their defense. “Weakening the One” by increasing the population of Oners? That can’t possibly work.
A ding and light flash on his board. Someone using the stairs. Ra’d and a couple of his team had set up a network of detectors and set up the connections to his computer.
Mostly nothing, as the residents of the third floor occasionally forgot and used the end stairs. Almost always down to the ground floor. The one fellow who’d barged out here had been considerably taken aback to find a gun pointed at him. And not appreciated being escorted halfway down the hall, while Davos kept watch on the stair and elevator doors.
Also with a loaded gun.
They trust us. And . . . they understand a lot about the commander. Director Urfa had handed over the three handguns—one for Umaya—and the two carbines, and the ammunition for all of them, himself. “As I understand it, the Prophet needs to feel safe and secure to go deeply enough into the healing trance to heal quickly.” A quick grin as he watched Umaya’s competent handling. “So you three being able and willing to defend him seems like the best way to make it happen.”
The quick footfalls he could hear in the stairwell passed the door and continued down. A thud from the door below closing. Through the window, he failed to see anyone exiting the building. Someone with an office on the first floor?
He stepped quietly up to the stairway door and opened it. Empty. Good. He trotted up a half flight to take a look, then down to the first floor and back up.
Trying to not favor his right leg.
Back to his desk to pick up the hand weight and do a few reps on the right side. His morning routine was quickly settling into a short run, weights, then magic lessons with a small group that made him feel like a senior citizen. And powerless.
At least I can do the meditation part.
Chapter Four
A Little Slice
16 Shaban 1413
Lucky Dave perked up when he spotted Qamar as she walked up and joined the magic class.
“Good to see you again. PhD all official?”
“Yep. And I’ve got a job. I’ll be a guest lecturer at Daiki University for the six weeks left of this semester. So I’m coming here to work at putting the theory into practice. Every morning.”
Dave could feel the grin on his face. Tried to subdue it.
Rael ran them through basic power gathers and dispersion, then moved her magic class outside, to what they called the Junk Yard. Miscellaneous targets for magic practice.
“All right.” The Crazy Redhead grinned at them. “Today, you are not going to destroy massive targets. But perhaps you can damage a few pieces of wood close to hand.”
She started handing out short planks. Dave casually sauntered up beside Qamar.
So she’s got her PhD and is going to lecture at Daiki University on the West side of Paris. I’ll see her regularly . . . probably meet all her boyfriends. Dammit.
“Sit in a line and try to refrain from trying this until I watch you, one-by-one. Okay?” Rael shot a grin at Dave.
Dave nodded. “Yes. That’s one of the proper uses of ‘Okay.’ Good job.”
She giggled. “Now this is an exercise involving shields. You all saw the riot on ice, right? Yes, that’s one way to use a shield, projecting it out from your body, rather than all around your body.
“Listen up! This is very dangerous. A shield, edge on, is like the sharpest blade imaginable. Slice is simply a shield, manipulated to be used as a weapon.