by Pam Uphoff
26 Rajab 1414
The third time Lucky Dave drove the President to Gate City to visit his grandkids, he got twitchy and got off the freeway an exit early.
Foo, riding shotgun opened his mouth . . . then shut it and subvocalized something to the escort, half of which they’d just lost. “Your reputation . . .”
“I know, or rather I don’t know.” He turned right, left, ahead four blocks, then abruptly left. “Sorry.”
Foo snorted and tapped his ear bud. “Don’t be, the other guys are reporting suspicious activity, cars that suddenly dropped off the freeway and are now running what looks suspiciously like a semi-organized search of alternate routes to Paer’s house . . . which is what we’re doing . . . three cars turning our direction . . .”
“Hold on!” Dave wrenched the wheel and hit the brake, then the gas. A skidding U-turn and burning rubber as something exploded behind them. A skid turn at the next intersection.
Foo was cursing. “Rocket propelled grenade. You do realize you turned before you could possibly have seen them?”
“That’s how my magic works. In the clutch, not in practice. Now be quiet for a minute, I think we’ve lost contact for a moment.” Dave glanced in the rearview mirror. “Do we have any escort, at the moment?”
“No. We’ve lost them, too.”
“Right, that makes this easier.” He turned up an alley, stopped and backed into a driveway until the back bumper touched the garage. Put the car in drive, foot on the brake. And relaxed. “I think it’s over. But let’s sit here for a moment and be sure.”
The President sat forward. “Despite what everyone keeps saying, I wasn’t quite prepared for Lucky Dave in action. Good job.”
They all watched Foo, as he monitored the radio chatter.
Foo grunted. “Looks like the rats are running for their holes. They’re trying to track them out of high population areas before they close in and wind up in a gunfight . . . but they got the RPG crew.”
“Any of our guys hurt?”
“Nothing serious. A couple of local cops injured—car crash. With the perps.”
A long couple of minutes.
“We’ve captured three cars and have nine men in custody, most of them heading for the hospital first. Lousy drivers, no serious civilian injuries.”
And a few minutes later, “City cops have IDed some local gangsters, probably just hired . . . Oh and an Al Iadrah mid-level—not that they can’t be hired, but they tend to be . . . self-motivating.”
The President picked up his comm. Glanced at it. “Paer says they’re all evaccing to the SGA. We’ll meet them there.” He sat back with a huff. “I wonder what set this off?”
Qayg, who had been silent throughout, snorted. “They’re voting on whether to bring the Reclassification Bill out of committee. A general alert—which is no doubt in progress—will postpone that. A successful assassination would put it off until this session expires and all unapproved bills die with it. And the next session? During an election year? Even our side probably won’t bring it up.”
Foo looked around. “If the result was an interim ruling committee until the election, which is still over a year away, they might figure they could shoot down the bills they don't like.”
Qayg nodded. “But did someone think that the disruptive effect of even an attempt would be useful enough to toss some money to Al Iadrah?
Orde winced. “Well, they always say to not interrupt the enemy while they’re making mistakes. But I wish they’d chosen a less violent way to lose the next election.”
Dave looked around in surprise.
“If they vote on the bill and it loses, the One First Party will fall apart. They’re a one issue party. Even if the bill passes, there’s a year before the election, for everything to settle down. But right now, the One Firsters are pulling votes from both the Isolationists and the War Party, making it easier for one of the more sensible party candidates to win.”
“Ah. I see. Mostly that I was mistaken in thinking the future was so amazingly civilized.” Dave shook his head. “Is this normal for a Presidential campaign? Murder starting six months ahead of the candidates even announcing that they were running?”
“No, but the elections with a lame duck President—me this time around—do tend to be livelier than the ones with an incumbent running for reelection.”
“I see. Maybe someone should drop a hint about the efficacy of just setting off the fire alarm, the next time they want to evacuate the Council Hall?”
The president snickered. “I will drop that on someone at an appropriate time.”
Dave shifted his attention back to the road, and drove out through a maze of streets and alleys, and then finally onto a main thoroughfare, onto the freeway and immediately off and through the SGA gate without even slowing.
Oldy and Itsy, both armed to the teeth, were waiting just inside, with Ahsi at the wheel of their car. They ducked back into the car and it took off and trailed them all the way to a street full of warehouses . . . All alike except for the numbers . . . except for number Fifty that sported graffiti-style 3-D forced perspective rendering of its number.
Ra’d waved them in and pointed at an open vehicle bay. There were other men . . . Right, Scar and his team, and another couple that he recognized.
Dave turned off the car and stalked to the entrance. “Was meeting here, where everyone in XR knows Paer’s team works, a good idea?”
Scar grinned. “The building is very strange. The four of them—Nighthawk is a regular visitor—have put up amazing shields, and they all have bubbled rooms. Plus the three of them are probably the most dangerous people we’ve ever met. I’d excluded you from that list, but I think I’ll reconsider after this exhibition.
“Because we have on record at least three times you took evasive maneuvers before you could possibly have known about it, and the way you went through a couple of intersections was jaw dropping. I’ll bet there’s not a scratch on that car.”
Dave shrugged. “Three? Well, that’s how it works. Generally. I’ve also been known to drive straight into a mess. Ask Davos.”
“We have. Did you really get a tank stuck in a pigsty?”
“Yes. And the stench haunts my worst nightmares. And no, we never got it out.”
Scar looked innocent. “The tank or the smell?”
“Embrace the power of ‘and’ and you will understand many things in this world.”
Chapter Seventeen
Summer and School
1 Yusef 1414
Arno gave the table a quick wipe. “And we’ve both completed the classes we’d started at the hideous school, and started the next round. I figure one more year and we can graduate. Head for college in the fall of 1415.”
Ryol started laying out silverware. “And we talked to Ebsa about the Directorate School, so we both run every morning, and Arno’s lifting weights. I . . . probably ought to, too.”
Xiat nodded. “Yep. Starting out physically fit is a good idea.”
“And karate. We probably ought to take lessons.” Arno shrugged. “But this grid school, the senior year, we can take some college level classes and get both high school and college credit. So it’s a really good deal. But we’ll be busy.”
Madam Raod bustled out with plates. “Sit down and put your feet up, Izzo. Ox called. He’s stuck in traffic, but he said he’d be here in about fifteen minutes. Are you just in town for the day?”
“And can you talk about it?” Arno, of course, perpetually curious.
“Oh, just a larger than usual bit of name calling in the Disco forum.” Izzo grinned. “Pretty much as mature as your former school problems. The Whirlpool One is accusing us of not allowing them to talk to the colonies. They want to preach the advantages of switching to being their colonies instead of ours to all the colonies, and get a referendum on the 1415 ballot. So the citizens of the various colonies can vote for which One World they want to be a colony of.”
Ryol shook her pretty head. “Why would th
ey want them? They’re eleven years behind us, with fifty years of being isolated and only two years of realizing how huge and diverse the multiverse is. They haven’t have time to adjust their thinking. About hardly anything.”
Arno eyed Izzo. “What did you recommend?”
“That they have full access.” Izzo grinned. “I figure the more they talk, the less enthusiasm the colonies will have for switching. Especially after the way they stuck their noses in the air and wouldn’t talk to the !Zolts the time I escorted them through to meet the governor. They snubbed the trio of Matriarchs who wanted to speak to them.”
Ryol giggled, horribly reminiscent of her biomother. “Oh, that doesn’t work on Homestead! I’ll bet they’ll lose in a landslide.”
Izzo grinned. “Yes. And they ought to have known better. We were better than that from the start. But perhaps they forgot over half a century. And they really disapproved of the colonies having their own gates to Embassy. And between each other.”
Ryol looked thoughtful. “We’ve been loosening up, haven’t we? Control, I mean. And they’ve stayed with a strong central government and weak regional, like we used to have.”
Izzo nodded. “Like we developed after losing Granite Peak. We expected to be invaded at any moment. But we loosened our grip, even before Endi, Xen, rather, shook us up again.”
The clatter of the garage door announced Ox’s arrival.
So they listened to intelligent conversation, and actually contributed when they started talking about Disco and Embassy.
Ryol, of course, pouted when they got sent off, but Arno just popped down to his room and transcribed the whole conversation. Quotes from the Director of Exterior, and the IR Subdirector of Investigations. Political report gold.
Then he read a chapter in the History of the Multiverse text and took the quiz. Then Creative Writing. This week, a mystery genre short story. It wasn’t going well . . .
It’s too obvious who did it, so now I have to figure out how someone else could have done it. Give me math or science any day!
Chapter Eighteen
Recruited
1 Nicholas
Izzo raised his brows as he realized that there were only three people in Urfa’s conference room.
The President shook his hand. “You know Exle, don’t you?”
Exle Withione Bangkok was the head of the unfortunately small Modernist party . . . This is a political meeting, not . . .
“Of course. Exle picks on me regularly, and forces me to attend all the party meetings in the Western Hemisphere.” Another handshake.
“Don’t you mean, host those meetings, Izzo? Something to do with you being the third highest ranking Modernist after these two layabouts?” Exle grinned and Urfa waved them all into chairs. No guards, not even Rael. Not even Qayg!
“Don’t look so worried, Izzo, this will be over quickly. We’re looking toward next year’s Presidential Election, and checking out all the possible candidates.” The President grinned.
Izzo looked at Urfa. “I will certainly support . . .”
Urfa shook his head. “You, Izzo.”
Izzo froze. Tried to think of something to say. Forced himself to breath. Swallowed. “I . . .”
Grins from the other three.
President Orde pulled a cash card out of his pocket and handed it to Urfa. Shook his head. “And here I was sure you’d have thought about it.”
“I . . .”
Urfa shook his head. “He’s been busy. Izzo, you’ve got a lot less time to set up the Directorate for a new Director than you’d planned. And a bigger job ahead of you than you’d planned.”
And some odd words seemed to be coming out of his mouth. “If I win. Which is definitely not . . . going to be easy . . . and maybe not possible.”
Oh shit! Did I just say yes?
***
He was still feeling stunned two hours later when he walked back into the Gothic Horror. El Zee was shooting worried glances at him in the rearview mirror, and stepped out to watch him walk, hopefully steadily, through the front door.
It was the middle of the day, the kids were at school and Xiat would be working . . . or rushing in through the back door because someone—El Zee, no doubt—had tattled. He hauled her into the elevator, pushed the button, and pulled her into a hug.
“Izzo?”
“Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I . . . um . . . had a bit of a shock today.”
She stood him off, hands on his shoulders and looked him over. “Izzo! What happened?”
“Um . . . Let’s get private.” He led the way down the hall to the Director’s suite, and flopped on the ridiculously large bed to stare at the ceiling. Tried to organize his thoughts into coherent order. Most important thing first.
“Xiat, you are the light of my life and . . . and . . .”
“Izzo?” She leaned over him frowning now. “What did you do?”
“Will you divorce me if I run for president?”
Xiat started laughing. “Izzo! Do you mean to tell me you didn’t notice you were being groomed for the job? For years!”
Chapter Nineteen
Resigned . . . so to speak
16 Ramadan 1414
Lucky Dave followed Rael into the Council Hall, where she got a few glowers, but no one tried to stop them. She led him up a staircase and down a hallway and slowed as they approached an open door.
Furious voices within. “. . . agreed we should do it my way!”
“I thought better of it.” A snobby, superior voice he’d heard only on the screen. Ycrw the Crow. Who had resigned his post an hour ago. “And decided I had the better plan.”
“Better plan my ass, you cold-blooded narcissistic asshole.”
Dave swapped grins with Rael, and kept his voice down. “Councilman Insa. He sounds a little pissed.”
Her eyes gleamed. “I never could tell if the Crow was the boss and Insa the minion, or if I’d misjudged and Insa was a puppet master type.”
“Heh.” Dave cocked his head as the voices rose. “The emotional speech-maker gets the crowds going. Ycrw would make a much better power behind the throne. I wonder if they ever really heard what the other one was saying?”
“Heh. Diplomatic obliquity gone bad. Sometimes subtlety is not the best method.” Rael waved him back as thumps and clicks joined the acrimony. As the voices fell she stepped forward again.
Insa stomped out of the open door, clearly pissed. He glared at them as he stomped past. Turned and yelled. “Good luck guarding him!” He laughed as he walked around the corner.
Rael walked to the open door and tapped.
The man standing behind the desk stared coldly. “I see the news has travelled fast. And you, Native Lover, are not going to be guarding me.” An eye flick at Dave. “Nor him. There are rumors that he’s had the One gene added.”
“No, the Black Horse Guard will be doing the guarding in a couple of weeks, but we like to make sure the . . . intervening time is covered.”
Snort. “I’ve hired private guards. Go away.”
“Certainly.”
Dave stepped back through the doorway he’d barely passed as Rael turned and walked away.
She giggled. Probably at his expression. “You think that was bad? Wait till I turn up at a War Party candidate’s doorstep.” She tapped at her comm. “I’ll tell Eppa he’s got private guards and . . . Oh ho. Izzo’s resigned. You know him, and you know where the Director’s Residence is, right?”
“Right.”
As they walked back out the door, Rael pointed. “The lone tower on the left. Xiat bought a flat on the twentieth floor forty years ago. They bought the flat next to it when they got married and remodeled it for the kids. One! The twins are six years old? Take the car and check out the building entrance and approaches, then head for Gate City and pick them up.”
“Will do.”
***
Lucky Dave drove around to the front door of the “Gothic Horror,” the official residence of
the Director of External Relations. Repeated exposure to it hadn’t improved his opinion of it a bit.
Izzo and Xiat walked out, herding their kids, before he reached the front door.
Izzo grinned. “Dave! They stuck you with us?”
“Yep. Just for a couple of days. Then the Black Horse Guards take over.” Dave shook hands with all four of them. The kids, Xiaz and Izto looked a bit subdued. Leaving the only home they’ve ever known.
Dave eyed them, and then Izzo. “So, you’ve resigned. A lot of that going around.” The unofficial prenotification of candidacy. Hence the Black Horse Guards being parceled out already.
Xiat nodded. “I expected Ovli. But Crow instead of Insa the Insane? Insa’s the rabble rouser, he can really get the crowds going.”
Dave nodded. “There were reports of a serious confrontation between the two last week. From what little we’ve managed to pick up, there may have been some confusion between the two of them as to who was the boss and who was the flunky, not the puppet master.”
Izzo grinned. “Oh, I’d have paid to hear that. And I just heard that Councilman Ovli Withione Peking and Councilman Diego Jesus Blanco Ramos of Brazil have resigned.”
“Isolationists and Multitude Supreme. One each. So far.” Dave opened the back door and the kids climbed in. Raised around chauffeurs and butlers. Well, Izzo and Xiat are too sensible to have raised brats. I hope.
“Yes. And no moves from the War Party leaders, yet.” Xiat joined the kids, and Izzo ducked in after them.
Dave closed the door and whisked around to take the wheel. “No Princess?”
Izzo grinned. “What? I’ve resigned. No need for a Princess. Wizzy’s been recalled to Makkah.”
“I see.” Probably being assessed to see if they want to keep her with Izzo, or send someone more mature? Of course, what chance does Izzo really have? The Modernists are such a small party.