by Pam Uphoff
The nasty crackle of a strong magic-user dying had them all turning to stare in the same direction.
Emre winced. “I misjudged that. The guards weren’t there to protect him. They were there to protect themselves. Well. The next few months should be interesting. I wonder how many will leave?”
Lucky Dave shrugged. “Once it’s their choice, some will stay. Or return. And once you stop thinking you need to recruit children, some very wise or powerful people may choose to come here and help in their retirement.” He looked at Jeb. “Remember?”
“Old crippled Warriors coming home, and lending their mental strengths to Compasses here? Yes . . . it’s going to be a huge upheaval.” A wry smile. “Here. We may be humbled to discover how little the outside world cares, or even notices.”
***
They stayed for another twelve hours.
Emre had a doubled fast room—Nicholas took him up on his offer to use it, and started emerging every fifteen minutes for lav and food, then back into the room.
By midnight he was alert and energetic. He thumped Emre’s shoulders and wished him luck rebuilding the One and they walked quietly back between dark buildings to the cars.
Chapter Nine
Things to do
30 Ramadan 1413
Lucky Dave stood back and watched President Orde, who was fast turning into the commander’s friend.
“We understand the need for the ‘New Prophets’ at the time, and the silence about just where they’d come from. But now, we’d really like a complete and detailed history. The Comet Fall Gods had brain damage, and they’re so in contact with their collective subconscious that they have trouble remembering their early lives.”
Nicholas grimaced. “So I should write my memoirs?”
“Yes. And then I think you’ll find yourself highly in demand as a lecturer in ancient history.” Orde grinned. “But right now? You should spend time with your family. Travel—we’ve got sixteen colony worlds, and then there’s Embassy, where Ra’d, Nighthawk and their kids live.”
“That sounds . . . interesting. It’s been a long time since I’ve had grandchildren.” The commander looked over his shoulder and grinned at him. “Lucky Dave, are you really horrified?”
“Yes. I’ll need help guarding you. Especially if you’re going to some other world!”
The commander half turned and studied him for a minute. “Oh, relax. I’ll accrue more guards. Probably starting with those ecclesiastical guards who killed the priest.”
Lucky Dave choked. “Commander!”
The commander grinned. “They’re trained guards. I’ll add a few people with wider recent experience, and go touring. Except when I’m home writing up reports on everything I can remember from my childhood.”
Dave huffed.
Nicholas shook his head. “There’s no war, no one is trying to kill me. I think this might be a good time for you to start thinking about what you want to do, now. Like joining this Directorate. It does seem a good fit, and an opportunity to try something beyond guarding.”
Orde chuckled. “Your expression, Lucky Dave! The Presidential Directorate wants you, and your brother. So do a lot of other institutions. But I’ll warn you, I’ll have you go with Rael when she’s on any special assignments.”
“Oh . . . that would be. . . interesting.”
Nicholas snickered. “It would be good for you, to branch out.”
“Oh . . .”
***
And another in-group meeting.
Urfa nodded. “Captain Wtve? We’ve had several reports on the Prophet’s visit to Makkah. I’m curious though, about your opinion of the whole situation.”
Lucky Dave bit his lip. “Well, I skipped the whole deification of the stuck grand compass, so while, from my reading, I realize that the compass was needed at the time, the subsequent . . . care and feeding of it and the barbarian practices they added utterly repels me. So I’m delighted to see it broken, apparently long term.
“I’m aware of two deaths, and numerous problems the departing priests are experiencing, yet it seems to be settling down to something that I would call a normal religion. One of faith in a God, rather than recognition of the power of the church.”
Dave eyed them. “I’ve heard that their main means of control is the assignment of a princess assassin to every influential figure. That . . . well, again, I know its roots, in the arranged marriages of the daughters of the Prophets, to monitor and control allies. But is it actually necessary, anymore?”
Rael giggled. “Oh, Dave. You are going to be fun to have around. The current thing that everyone is wondering is who can order the assigned princesses to take actions against their assigned bureaucrats?”
Urfa winced. “Not a power one wants just floating around.”
Dave nodded. “In Makkah, Emre and three other Priests, Jeb, Usse, and Ytry seemed to be coordinating everything when we left.”
Rael nodded. And met Urfa’s gaze. “I’m just back from there. They’ve pulled in a few more people for the top echelon, and are delegating specific chores to them. We’ll see what they can do about weather real soon now. There’s a typhoon in the south Pacific they’re trying to weaken and steer. The individual mosques and churches are being given much more autonomy, and the funds to deal with local issues. But the control through the Princesses is still being handled by the top four.”
Dave frowned. “Marrying off their daughters is how the Prophets stayed on top of an intensely tribal culture. But most of us children and grandchildren were raised in the Prophets’ values and culture, and I’ve seen very little of the tribal organizations, but a fair amount of class snobbery, since we . . . arrived. I’ll talk to the commander, and no doubt he’ll liaise with Emre and his people about whether a distributed system of status symbol assassins is still needed.”
The pretty Puur slapped her hand over her mouth, snickering.
Rael yipped. “Status symbol assassins! Oh, One! That is exactly what they are. Sorry, Puur.”
Dave look back at the beauty, snickering, wiping her eyes, and blowing her nose.
Dear God! She’s an assassin assigned to keep an eye on Urfa, and kill him if so ordered.
Urfa shook his head, eyes twinkling. “Well, anything new politically I need to know about?”
Shaken heads. Idlo shrugged. “With Agni so definitely out of the running, the War Party has a dozen people testing the waters for a presidential run. Ambassador Ashe, Minister Axti, and Councilman Wzli are the most often mentioned. The other parties are buzzing like mad as well, but only the Isolationists have a single strong contender—Councilman Ovli.”
Urfa nodded. “Oval’s campaign will certainly be interesting. No indication that Ajki might run?”
Three shaken heads. Inre answered this time. “I overheard someone flat out ask him. His answer was both profane and very negative.”
“How about the Strong Federalists?” Izzo leaned forward and looked down the table.
Ydro snorted. “They don’t think they have a chance of winning, so they’re trying to entice Subdirector !Tok into running.”
Dave blinked at the roof-of-the-mouth pop that preceded the name.
A snort from Izzo. “!Tok is much too canny to take a step like that. Quit his job for a guaranteed loss? Nope.”
Izzo’s pop ran smoothly into the Tok and made it all sound like a very foreign name.
So a Native could run? How interesting. And he’s a Subdirector? Why not make a point of it? Oh, wait . . .
Dave cocked his head. “That’s right. They have to quit to run. I’d forgotten that. And it all officially starts the first day of Muharram, 1415. Twelve months from now?”
Rael sighed. “Not looking forward to it.”
Dave thought about turning this whole insane Empire over to someone else . . . “Does a new President change directors?”
Izzo fielded that one. “Depends. Ajki, for instance, is War Party, so a War Party President might leave him at IR,
or make him the Presidential Director. He gets along well enough with so many people, that he might even survive an Isolationist President, but this new One First Party is growing fast, and they’d probably make a clean sweep.”
“You?”
“I’ll be kicked out, guaranteed. Urfa’s the only Modernist who is well known enough to run . . .”
“Ha!” Urfa grinned. “With my odd reputation? And no legislative experience . . .”
Izzo nodded. “But you’re the only possible Modernist. So I’m not planning beyond next year.”
Dave frowned. “So you’ve got the twenty-three months until the election to set things up that can’t be knocked right back down.”
“Oh, anything can be knocked down, if you’re determined enough and willing to be brutal about it.” Izzo grinned. “So I have to be subtle in the changes I make, and make them work so well that the new director will be more likely to claim credit than knock them down.”
Dave thought that over. “You have good relations with Disco, don’t you?”
“And as many embassies on Embassy as possible.” Izzo eyed him. “If you have the free time, I’ll show you around.”
Dave hesitated.
Rael giggled. “Go on. It’ll be good for you. I’ll let Nicholas know where you’ve gone.”
Dave shook his head. “He’s here for the party tonight.”
Izzo nodded. “Me too. I’m going to sleep in and leave after lunch, because of the time zone changes.”
Dave blinked. “Where . . . in what time zone are the embassies on Embassy located?”
Izzo grinned. “They’re seven hours behind Paris, an hour behind Gate City. Umm, west Coast of Mexico. Not that there’s a nation or anything else, anywhere else on that World.”
Izzo sobered then. “However, the reason I came today, we just got a report in from Whirlpool One. About the second bag having been stolen.”
Dave straightened. “I though Daiki’s Bag had disintegrated? Over there?”
Izzo nodded. “Apparently not. Apparently it was delivered to the Comet Fall hospital just a few days after Rael and you had that public fight at the hospital here. Anonymously.”
“Are they still there? It’s been six months.”
“Nope. They’re all on Tyrant’s World now, with their families. Have been all fall. The Whirlpool One people just realized who some of the new people there are and their Hive Mind is pissed. They’re accusing Disco of a cross-dimensional crime.”
Urfa winced. “Hopefully . . . oh hell, who could do it besides Disco?”
Dave bit his lip. “Us? But could they detect a powered gate? And . . . I didn’t realize there was anyone left to rescue.” He looked around the table. Shaken heads.
Including Izzo’s. “We all thought that the bag must have malfunctioned, sometime in the past. This caught me flat footed. I came to let you know about it, and no doubt I’ll spend a lot of tomorrow investigating.”
Chapter Ten
New Year’s Party
30 Ramadan 1413
Arno’d been to Versalle several times with Aunt Rael, but this was the first time he’d been to Government House. He’d seen the front entrance in the news and in movies a million times, and this garden almost as often. But actually walking up the steps and through Government House to the garden was. . . daunting.
Holy One! A Party at Government House!
He gulped a little as he walked out into the place where his genetic mother and father had almost died. Yeah. Right there on the dance floor.
He looked away, looked around at his sister’s squeal.
“Lucky Dave! Whoa, you cleaned up nice.”
Yep, there was the famous Lucky Dave, shaking his head at Ryol. “Hi, Crazy Redhead Number Two. I see you haven’t changed a bit in half a year.”
Arno snickered. Looked around and spotted Jay. Wow, someone I know. Well, all right, he’s a half-brother. He walked around two other groups of chatting people.
Jay spotted him and bowed out of the group of adults and joined him. “Hey, how’s it going?”
“Still surviving the bullies. Man, I thought a Paris Prep school would be so cool. Ha!”
Jay nodded. “My school is stricter than the One Hell, but they’re also death on bullying, so I don’t mind all the rest. At any rate, I haven’t turned anyone into a goat. Yet.”
“Really? You know that spell?” Arno considered a couple of students who had been especially nasty in their harassment . . . “I could use that one.”
But Jay was shaking his head. “No. And probably a good thing.”
“Yeah. So when did you go to Embassy last?” Arno glanced over to see what Ryol was up to . . . still talking to Lucky Dave, now with a tall brown-haired woman.
“Or What, Yrno, and I got hauled in for a week just before school started. We can all do corridors, now. Still flubbing gates. You?”
“Couple weeks before that, I had lessons with Q. Man, I had no idea how hard it is to put a gate where you actually want it!”
A snort from Ryol, behind him. “As opposed to randomly? Lucky Dave, this is my idiot twin, Arno, and Jay is my nice half-brother. This is Dave ibn Daiki ibn William, and Qamar . . . do they use ibn for girls? Daughter of Nicholas, Granddaughter of Victor.”
Arno shook hands with both, trying to not let his jaw drop. “An honor to meet you both.” And they are a pair, standing close, and Qamar eyeing Ryol like she’s competition. Ha!
Lucky Dave eyed him. “So you can make gates? Randomly?”
“Well, not randomly. They have a strong tendency to stick to the same spot on the other world that you’re standing on. Not to mention the trouble anyone except Q has finding the right world in the first place.”
“Probably not too much of a problem, if you don’t particularly care where on the world you go.”
Qamar nodded. “Or you could go to the place on the One World that you wanted to go to on the other World, couldn’t you?”
Arno nodded. “Except we like to keep the gates all in the SGA. Well, except for the suburb worlds . . . I wonder if they all go to their local regions, or if they try for nicer climates?”
Yes, let’s change the subject, shall we?
Qamar nodded. “It would work for a temporary gate though. Like, a quick check for gold in California, right?”
“Yep.”
Or not. Lucky Dave is looking thoughtful.
“Although you’d have to get permission, or a permit or something, from Director Izzo. Otherwise it would be quite illegal.”
Dave nodded. “No doubt. Why don’t you all come meet Commander Nicholas?”
***
Who was talking to Ox . . . Arno blinked. “You look just like Ra’d.” And knew he was blushing, but couldn’t seem to stop his mouth. “Umm, other way around, I guess.”
The Prophet grinned. “Yes. And you look a great deal like Xen Wolfson.” He eyed them all. “So you’re three of the people who are bringing dimensional abilities to the Empire?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Excellent. And interesting to see irony at work on a cosmic scale. Wolfson sabotaging us . . . by giving us even more access to the Multiverse.”
Qamar snickered. “It is, isn’t it? With a big enough time gap that by the time we’re seriously dangerous to Comet Fall, maybe we won’t want to be.”
“Depending on the next President.” Arno eyed the Prophet, a sudden thought . . .
“Oh Hell no!” The prophet grinned. “In fact, I’m not dead sure I’d qualify as a citizen of the Empire.”
They all gawked at him.
“I guess I’d better check on that, and see about how to register to vote and so forth.”
Ox snorted. “I suspect that was assumed. You’ll just have to register that you are residing in the District you’re living in.”
“We haven’t settled yet, Umaya seems to think I need something special.” Nicholas looked over his shoulder. “And unfortunately I need to go meet more politicians. It has
been a pleasure to meet you three.”
They watched him move off, and Arno heaved a deep breath. “He’s almost as deep as Master Xen.”
Ryol sniffed. “I’d like to see him next to the Old Wolf. Although too many deepnesses . . .”
“Could be a bit overwhelming.” Arno glanced at the Prophet, now shaking hands with former Councilman Ramos. “One of Those Left Behind, Wolfgang Oldham, is our biological grandfather.”
Lucky Dave and Qamar both stared at him.
Dave huffed out a breath. “The Commander says he learned his martial arts, from weaponless to military tactics, from a Wolfgang. The Warriors he taught call their barehanded, knife, and stick methods ‘the Way of the Wolf.’ And it’s quite impressive.”
Qamar snickered. “And Dave is a master of it. He beats up all the Warriors.”
“Not all of them.” Lucky Dave grinned. “But some, yes.”
Arno looked puzzled. “Why aren’t you considered a warrior?”
“I can’t do the fancy battle magic.” Dave shrugged. “Didn’t need it, my job was to keep Nicholas alive.”
Qamar grinned ruefully. “We’re both taking lessons from Rael. She’s called us her stubborn idiots more than once.”
Dave snorted. “Yeah. I can slice almost a meter now. What kind of range do you kids have?”
Jay shrugged. “Us Wolf Kids, as a group? Thirty to fifty meters for slice, double that for a small diameter punch.”
“Wolf Kids?” Arno looked at Jay.
“Oh, haven’t you heard that? The Farmer Kids got tired of being treated like hicks, so they decided to change it. We staged a great shouting argument, where they used it like an insult, then we pointed out that half of them were Xen’s kid’s too, the other half took lessons from him . . . We’ll see if it sticks.”
Ryol rolled her eyes. “I would much rather just be . . . one more Oner kid. Maybe I can shed the group identification in college.”