by Pam Uphoff
Dave shrugged. “I know he’s not my dad. Nor the others really the Prophets. Which, I hope everyone realizes, was an excellent con job? But do let them know that there’s an extended . . . if not family, people with significant genetic overlap who will help them privately, if they continue to be suspicious of governments.”
“Thank you.” Peter grimaced. “I think they’d just as soon run off into the Maze and lose themselves, except there are so few of them, they really couldn’t make a sustainable civilization by themselves.”
Fire nodded. “There’s only twenty-five of them, including Peter.”
Dave considered that . . . “There are several independent small colonies, aren’t there? They could be another, with contacts through to the other worlds for recruiting people, or finding wives?”
“Husbands. The young girls have the young boys badly outnumbered.” Peter sighed. “And they don’t trust Disco to just give them a world, with no strings attached.”
Ra’d snorted. “His only strings are ‘no wars across the dimensions.’ Otherwise he’s perfectly happy to leave people completely alone.”
“This maze . . . What’s it really like?”
Nighthawk laughed. “Do you ride horses, Dave?”
“Years ago.”
“Good. We’ll get some volunteers and give you a tour of the maze.”
Peter and Fire exchanged nods. “Us too?”
“Sure.” Nighthawk grinned. “Peter’s probably explored more of the Maze than any of us.”
A batch of teenagers were at the barn, saddling horses when they got there.
:: I get Lucky Dave! :: The pinto mare trotted up to him.
“I didn’t ask what your name is . . . you guys do have names, don’t you?”
:: Of course! I’m Carousel. Hop on. The Maze is fun. :: She turned her head a bit, looking at a leggy pinto filly. :: And don’t get lost! ::
:: That’s Circus. Foals are fun, but I’m a working horse. Maybe I’ll have another in a few years. ::
Dave checked the cinch and hauled himself up on the mare. Although in this group she wasn’t extraordinarily tall. A black mare named Spooky could have passed for a draft horse, if she’d been hairier.
“So, what do you work at?”
:: When Rael goes anywhere she might need a horse, she takes me. :: Sigh. :: It doesn’t happen very often, but it was fun visiting Paris and seeing all the Black Horses. Even if they aren’t smart. I like being around all the Smart Horses here, but there isn’t nearly enough work. ::
Dave grinned. “Well, you could always start up a business, giving tours of the Maze.”
All the horses laughed at that. And he caught, off and on, a background conversation among the horses, as they trotted from gate to gate, from pine forests to soaring mountains, sere deserts with wind carved mesas, shadowy swamps, and a tropical forest full of brightly colored birds and the biggest damned snake . . . Nighthawk killed the snake with a wave of her hand, and whisked the pieces off the path with another.
Circus stayed glued to her Mom’s side after that, as they crossed another gate into grasslands with lines of giant oaks marking the paths of streams.
:: Pity we have to go back the same way . . . :: Carousel raised her head and looked at Nighthawk. :: Or maybe someone could open a new gate that attaches somewhere else? ::
Nighthawk looked back. “Good idea, make a few loops out here. Let’s take a break for water and I’ll see what I can locate.”
Dave stretched his legs, and eyed Nighthawk and Peter, sitting on the ground. He glanced at Ra’d. “I didn’t think any Prophets had the genes for dimensional work?”
“They didn’t. Best guess is Peter’s maternal grandfather was a Telie from one of the other companies. But Chloe isn’t telling. Their society was extremely anti-engineering, so they repressed their abilities, so the kids are having to catch up to their age mates at the schools on Embassy. Peter’s the only adult who comes to the magic lessons regularly, the rest are still untrusting.”
Peter stuck his hand out suddenly. “That one. That’s where I camped.”
Not that anyone else could see what he was pointing at . . . but a gate swirled open on a green meadow facing a waterfall cascading over a white granite cliff, pine trees, taller mountains in the background.
Dave tightened Carousel’s cinch, and remounted. Two gates and a corridor and they were back on Embassy.
“Thank you for a nice relaxing ride, Carousel.” He pulled off her saddle and grabbed a brush. “I’m really glad to have met you. All of you.” And then he had to brush Circus too, and then clean up in Nighthawk’s house to join Izzo for dinner with the Ambassador.
***
Ambassador Ashe was a dignified man, the grey invading his hair the only sign of advanced age. Indian subcontinent by his features, with the strong shielded glow of a High Oner, no sign of Hindu or Buddhist beliefs, but he did order the chicken dish, not the beef. And look ruefully down at it. “I tried once to steal a chef from XD, but failed. Mine, well, the embassy restaurant’s chef is . . . adequate.”
Lucky Dave had also ordered the chicken, as had Izzo. Mark of respect for the man, or his possible religious restrictions? He took a bite . . . “Actually, it’s quite good. Although as a soldier, my standards aren’t high.”
Ashe nodded. “Are you considering returning to the army?”
“Well, it’s a completely different army, and there’s no war.” Dave pondered, shrugged. “I’ll stick to keeping my old commander alive for now.”
Izzo grinned. “I’m trying to recruit him, but I seem to be in competition with Urfa.”
Ashe’s eyes twinkled. “Well, if Urfa didn’t keep all of them wrapped up in Versalle, the rest of us might just be trying as well. I’m sure at least one of the Ministries will be interested.”
Dave refrained from rolling his eyes. “And especially interested in nabbing an actual Prophet? For all the mythos that’s grown up over the last thousand years, we’re not all that extraordinary. I’m dabbling in history classes on the grid. And from what I’ve seen of the . . . credentialism . . .involved in most hiring and advancement decisions, I may have to go for a degree before I do much of anything.”
Izzo hesitated, nodded. “Yes, there was a point in my life—a long time ago, mind you—when I had to choose to be a good cop, or try for something better. Of course, that just landed me in Pre-Cog and Divination.” He caught Dave’s startled glance. “It’s a department of the Interior Directorate. I was an analyst, trying to sort wishful thinking from the real deal . . . and then trying to make sense of it.”
Dave thought back . . . “Interesting. I always wondered why it was the third generation—and mostly women—who had visions or whatever. The Prophets never showed any sign of . . . future knowledge, apart from their experiences prior to the Arrival. And they were very reticent about their memories. Not wanting to break the mythos.”
Izzo’s brows rose. “Really? I, well, Ra’d broke the belief that all of the Prophets were male, but I never considered that Pre-Cog was a development of their descendants, that they didn’t have.”
Ashe nodded. “Which makes the snobbish ‘One Firsters’ even less logical.”
“Because all Oners are a mixture of Prophet and Multitude.” Lucky Dave shrugged. “With three exceptions. Emre, Nicholas, and Ra’d.”
***
Dave slid into the limo after Izzo.
“It’s one in the morning in Paris. Why don’t you come crash in the, umm, Director’s Residence and I’ll send you back to Paris in the morning?”
A snicker from El Zee. “You should at least come see the building. Then I can drive you back if you’re afraid to stay there.”
“Afraid . . .”
Izzo sighed. “It has to be seen to be believed.”
“Okay. Now I’m definitely curious.”
The setting sun might have added to the atmosphere . . . but the flying buttress . . . only one? And Grecian columns, gargoyles, an onion dome . . .
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br /> And the three . . . ladies . . . arguing with a stiff and proper butler in the doorway.
“Oh. My. One.” Izzo choked. “You know that post at Pre-Cog I mentioned? The three most infuriatingly accurate-if-you-winnow-out-the-day-dreams women . . . appear to have tracked me down.”
“Really?” El Zee peered at them. “The ones who told you you’d find true love in Paris?”
“Yes. And then they came and talked to Endi Dewulfe about their Pre-Cogs.” Izzo braced his shoulders and advanced on the trio. “One! I hope they’re just insatiably curious, and not . . . doing it again.”
The closest one turned around and beamed. Her thickly applied makeup somehow managed to not crack. “Izzo! There you are! Don’t you love these corridors! All the way from New Zealand to Gate City in less than an hour!”
Dave barely caught Izzo’s whispered, “Oh shit!” before all three women descended on him with engulfing hugs. And then they spotted Dave.
They fluttered over, a rainbow of colors on three large women, well, not so much tall as sturdy with padding, but the clothes added a lot to the appearance of bulk. They formed up, a shallow arc of big eyes, all three with their hands clasped in front of themselves as if praying.
“Oh . . .” A long triple exhalation.
The one in (mostly) orange stuck out her hand. “It’s such an honor to meet Lucky Dave! Oh my, what we’ve seen!”
Dave shook her hand, trying not to flinch at the zing.
“Manners, Ladies!” The very multicolored one inched closer. “I’m Lady Hoax. This is Lady Jeep, and Lady Heum who appears to be frozen in awe. A first, in my experience.”
Dave nodded. “Lady Jeep.” He reclaimed his hand. “Lady Hoax.” Dammit, another zing. They must both be . . . what? Inbred descendants of Daiki? Or William?
Lady Heum, in pink, with purple accents, including her lipstick, shook herself a bit. “My pleasure. Oh my.”
Dave shook her hand. Barely a zing this time, thank you!
Behind them, Izzo had his hand over his face, shoulders shaking. “Ladies, why don’t you come inside, and tell me why you’ve come?”
The inside wasn’t any less . . . notable . . . than the exterior. But Dave’s contemplation of the ladies’ exclaiming over the wall that was papered with actual peacock feathers was interrupted by the arrival, at high speed, of two small blond tornadoes.
“Did you bring him?” A small sized version of Izzo vibrated in place, his eyes widening as he spotted the three witches . . . Ladies from PreCog.
The female version scooted around behind her dad and eye the trio uncertainly.
“Yes, I did. And these three ladies are people I worked with . . . Has it really been eighteen years ago?” Izzo pointed. “And that’s Lucky Dave over there. Dave? This is Xiaz and this is Izto, my kids and.” His gaze lifted. “My wife Xiat.”
The woman in the doorway was definitely worth looking at, not that Dave was going to show that in front of her husband. Light brown hair in a short style that set off a spectacularly beautiful face. She tossed him a warm smile, then returned to studying the three ladies.
Dave grinned, shook hands with both kids, and settled back to also observe the trio.
The ladies giggled, flirted with an alarmed El Zee, making him look even younger and more “precious” and admired the long and exciting career he was going to have. The poor chauffeur bodyguard shot a panicked look toward Izzo, who shrugged, and then he fled “to put the car away.”
The little girl giggled, looking up at Lady Jeep. “I think you scared him, messing up his hair like that. Isn’t he handsome?”
“Yes, he is. And so brave! And you’re pretty enough to just eat up!”
“Jeep! What a silly phrase!”
“My mother used it all the time.”
“Three centuries ago! Really, Dear!” Hoax looked down at the girl. “Cute as a pin, now, and oh my! The hearts you’re going to break!”
There was a faint whimper from Izzo.
“Tsk! Silly boy, anyone can see that. This young man may well do the same. But! We came here to talk to Lucky Dave. We need a back check on some old predictions . . .” Heum patted her huge purse. “We brought all the old time-stamped files.”
Izzo winced. “The files that aren’t ever supposed to leave the custody of the Subdirector?”
“Yes. But since these have probably already happened, it doesn’t really matter. Now, where can we spread them out and work?” Heum smiled innocently.
“The library has a good work table.” Xiat waved in a very professional Nanny, who rounded up the kids, and shooed them out, protesting all the way.
“Now, these Pre-cogs all involved the bags of the Prophets, and we felt that they might involve Lucky Dave.” Heum pulled five sealed envelopes out of her purse.
“There were more, but we didn’t think they were about you.” Hoax added.
Jeep tapped one. “I’m not sure about this one. It may not have happened yet.”
Izzo shook his head and read the labels. “Let’s not break the seals yet, then the new subdirector might not kill me.”
Snickers from the three women. “Oh, Izzo, that man believes everything. The poor thing’s being treated like a chew toy and the poor analysts keep telling him . . . well, never mind.” Jeep leaned forward to read the label. “Oh, ‘The Cripple” I remember that one. The man with the crutch. He was hobbling down a road in the early morning, the sun wasn’t even up yet.”
Heum shook her head. “No, he was down on the ground, inching along on his left side.”
“And he ate a goat.” Hoax frowned at Dave. “Really! Some poor farmer’s goat, and you killed it!”
“I needed the food. And I dared not approach any houses.”
Izzo cleared his throat. “But was there a goat?”
“Yes. I killed it, butchered it, and cooked it. I was nearly done with the jerky when the farmer came looking and I had to hide again. And yes, until my arm and shoulder healed . . . sort of . . . I couldn’t even use the crutch I’d made. I hitched along on my side, maybe making a kilometer or two a day.”
Dave thought that over. “I rested three days, then headed for the road I’d been paralleling, and tried out the crutch. I managed a couple of steps, then the Crazy Redheads happened.” He eyed the three women. “You each got a tiny piece of that, didn’t you?”
“Yes. That’s often the way we work.” Hoax sighed. “Most of us just see things on their own.”
Izzo looked at the next envelope. “Bag of the prophets, black-haired boy, red sports car?”
Heum squirmed. “The red sports car was invisible. I think he was just daydreaming.”
Hoax sniffed. “Some boy in India, I could tell from the clothes. He was walking down the road. And I knew he had a bag of the prophets and a red sports car. But I didn’t see the sports car. Or the bag, but that would just be the handles, anyway.”
Dave bit his lip. Time to divert them away from . . . the boy I suspect they saw.
“Ra’d would dress like a local, borrow or buy some goats, and graze them along the road. The Imperial Chinese troops would either ignore him, or ask him if he’d seen any of those evil Islamics. He’d point them toward an ambush, then fade away. Sometimes his father would loan him his bag, so he could take a gun with him. He was a hell of a sniper.”
Jeep sighed. “He seemed like such a nice boy, though!”
“Good, yes. Nice . . . not really.”
Izzo grabbed the next envelope. “Man crying?”
“When the Prophet lay dying, he gave his bag of the Prophets to his youngest son, not . . .”
“To me.” Dave sighed. “I’m not a Warrior. Davos is. It was still a nasty slap, for the green twenty-year-old to get it, and the experienced soldier to be overlooked.”
Izzo looked at the next envelope. “Brother and sister.”
“They were reading something on a stone plinth, upset, and an old man walked up behind them, he had two bags of the prophets and was wo
ndering if he should give one to the boy.” Heum shivered. “They’d just read something horrible.”
Izzo winced. “I know that one. Ra’d and Qamar, reading the dedication plaque of the Fort Rangpur reconstruction, and the dates on it. And realizing that their father had died a thousand years ago.”
Ouch! That crushed their last hope of finding their father, and all the rest of the group must have also realized that their husbands, the fathers of those frightened children, were gone.
"Man treed by bull?" Izzo eyed the next envelope.
"Yes, but the uniform was Islamic Union, so we wondered . . ." The trio eyed Dave.
Dave growled. "Yes. No, I am not going to explain how a bloody cow blew an infiltration."
The ladies all snickered. “You certainly are fast when you need to be.” Jeep looked innocent. “And everyone else got away with no trouble . . . Pity you had to walk all the way back.”
Dave glowered at the ladies, the only alternative being to laugh about it. I wonder if they saw the other part . . . where I saw the Chinese forcing the locals to lay out a mine field? That changed the battle plans considerably, and I didn’t kill any of the people who “innocently” asked if I was getting lucky with cows, now . . .
Izzo reached for the last envelope. “Redheads with bags, everywhere.”
Heum nodded. “Teenagers, both boys and girls, nine of them, just goofing off, then some nasty fellow comes over and starts harassing them, and they laughed and swooped a bag over him and ran off to hand him over to someone.”
Xiat snickered. “Nine redheads. That sounds like Embassy, and a batch of Xen’s kids. I wouldn’t have thought . . . well, I’ve never heard about Pre-Cogs across dimensions.”
“It may not have happened yet.” Jeep frowned. “Do they have so many bags that teenagers can each have one?”
“With those people? The teenagers probably made them, themselves, as a training exercise.”
“Teenagers?” Hoax looked appalled. “How do their parents survive the kids’ puberty and teenage rebellion?”
Xiat snickered. “By sending them off to their very powerful father for a few years. Although Xen isn’t actually the father of all of them.”