Guardsman

by Pam Uphoff

  Dave took the handles and headed for the garage.

  One man under a truck, one man leaning into the engine compartment of a car. One man walking across toward the large vehicle doors.

  Swoop. One down.

  The fellow under the hood glanced at him, straightened and jumped back, hitting his head and knocking loose the prop. The hood slammed down, the man jerking his fingers back, cursing.

  Dave punched him. Opened the bars and heaved him in. The last guy was rolling out from under the truck, and Dave let him roll right into the bag.

  “Humph. Can’t even get into a good fight these days.” He kept his grumble to low volume and eased back into the main part of the house.

  Rael was looking around in disgust. “There are so many different explosives in here, and I know there’s something set to be blown up remotely . . . I think I’ll spare the local police the potential for a fatal mistake, not to mention the risk of Ycrw getting his hands back on these. C’mon.”

  Dave looked around as her meaning dawned. “You’re going to set it off!”

  “Yep.”

  “There’s too much here to do that safely . . . hell, I think Peeve’s triggerman might have been too close.”

  “Hmm, that’s an interesting thought. Honestly, I kind of liked that man, so professional, the one time I was around him.” Halfway down the driveway, Rael pulled the remote trigger out of her pocket and set it on the pavement. Kept walking.

  At the end of the driveway she turned and sat down cross-legged. And glowed as she pulled in heat. Dave stepped back as he felt the air actually cooling . . . spotted the shield . . . a full circle around the little winery and garage, reaching up three times the height of the buildings.

  We’re a hundred meters away!

  And I can shift a shield out a couple of meters from my body. I’ve seen compasses of Warriors and Prophets do things this big. And apparently a grand compass covered Karachi from a nuke . . . but a single . . . Warrior.

  Rael extended her left hand and made an index finger pressing motion in thin air.

  Three bangs, flashes of light in the windows, then a deep boom as the whole building disintegrated into a roaring column of fire. Dave felt the shock through the ground, stumbled back at the pressure wave. Debris started falling, not too dispersed, as it had gone almost straight up . . .

  Dave eased close to Rael, leaned over her, and concentrated on a shield for his head and shoulder. The fires cooled to normal flame, with a few pops and bangs, sizzling things hitting the ground. The flames sprang outward suddenly, as Rael dropped the big shield.

  “Damn. I’ll never think of a cold arrogant snob as someone who couldn’t possibly like a big explosion.” She took his hand to stand up.

  The little black lump of the remote trigger was still sitting on the driveway. She pointed at it and it melted, flamed a bit.

  She grunted. “Good enough. Let’s go, before people start showing up.”

  He watched her unbag the car and flop into the back seat.

  “Wake me up when we get to Madrid.”

  He shook his head. “Drink a bottle of boost or something.”

  “Good idea. And where’d I put that tape? Good thing you thought about labeling them. This is getting silly. I’d better label these bags before I lose track of them.”

  All the sirens were coming from behind them, and they were several miles away before the white clouds of steam joined the black smoke column in the rear view mirror.

  Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow, and this will have all been a bad dream. Weird dream. Holy crap, how powerful is this woman? Okay, I know she said shields were her specialty . . . but that was amazing.

  And if she checked back with Urfa for permission to kidnap multiple people and blow things up . . . Well, maybe I’ll pretend I missed the call.

  ***

  In Madrid, they drove past the swank restaurant where Izzo was scheduled to meet the locals. Rael pointed behind them. “That’s the building. Just three floors, so he’ll have a clear shot under that nice high portico as Izzo gets out of the limo.”

  Lots of high landscaping blocking the view from all sides, hard to shoot anyone there from ground level.

  “Take a right. Peeve was thinking he’d be on the roof, but we can’t count on that. The sniper may have decided to get lower, so we may have a bit of a search. Drive past it . . . good, a back door. Park and let’s get to it.”

  Dave stepped out of the car . . . and stared in consternation. “It’s red!”

  Giggle. “A shield that only lets through a narrow spectrum, over the paintwork. An ordinary illusion won’t fool a camera. I’ve got a detailed block over the license plates, too, and scrambled the electronic ID. C’mon.”

  “When did you do that?”

  “Right after we left the winery. Pity I didn’t think of it sooner. There may be records of us visiting the inn.”

  Dave subdued a whimper. “I think I see why Urfa wanted me to shadow you. I had no idea of the scope of a Presidential agent’s permitted actions.”

  Rael grinned at him. “It’s a matter of trust between Director and Agent. Urfa trusts me to follow the meaning of his orders—in this case, to keep the election as bloodless as possible—while breaking as few laws as possible and not landing him in too much hot water. And I trust him to not order me to do anything I would find morally objectionable.”

  “So . . . what happens with a new President and new Director?”

  “That . . . may be a problem. There’s a good chance I’ll resign. No trust either direction. Well, I’d trust Izzo, but he won’t trust me. And . . . well I don’t know who he’d want as a director. ”

  Dave winced. Because who is going to trust her to . . . eliminate a bomb factory with no fatalities? Who can she trust to not order her to kill a political opponent? Or a foreign diplomat. Or Xen Wolfson?

  She reached into her bag and pulled out another set of handles. Handed it to him.

  He followed her quietly up three flights of stairs, and watched while she leaned on a locked door . . .

  “They had a magic alarm on it. Looks like the two people up there are our target.” She opened the door and slid through. Dave followed, closing the door silently behind him. Thinking invisible thoughts as he ghosted up the last flight of stairs and out onto the roof.

  Only the break in the continuity of the line where the parapet met the roof clued him into the location of the sniper.

  Rael’s half imagined distortion stepped out and gestured across the roof. :: There’s spotter . . . signaling? Damn it, Izzo . . . ::

  The distortion zipped away and he heard her running foot falls, and bolted after her.

  A sharp snap of a suppressed shot, then the mound of active camouflage collapsed. Dave veered and intercepted the spotter as he . . . she . . . ran forward, drawing her pistol. One punch and she was down and out. Dave shook his hand as he ran over to the edge and looked over at the fuss under the portico.

  :: We’ve taken out the sniper up here. :: Rael sounded pissed. :: Izzo? ::

  :: I’m fine. :: Izzo sounded amused . . . and a bit surprised. :: There must have been multiple shield piercing spells on that bullet. I thought a shield around a bullet-proof car was enough . . . fortunately Scar made me wait and send out an illusion first. The bullet went right through the window of the open door, and nicked Scar. ::

  :: I’m fine! :: Scar’s mental voice was loud and pissed.

  Rael growled. :: Right. So, Izzo, do we call the police, or do we make this all disappear? ::

  She felt his indignant . . . pause for thought.

  :: One damn it all. I do not want a circus, and I do not want to encourage more . . . dammit. Can you make it disappear? Without killing anyone? And so they can be prosecuted later? ::

  :: Yes. ::

  :: Then do it. :: Izzo sounded exasperated.

  :: Scar, get back in the car, so no one sees any blood. No, you won’t be driving. :: Rael pulled off the active camouflage
blanket. A man limp on the ground, a beautiful long gun on a bipod. Looked about 12mm. All tricked out with a telescopic sight.

  Dave grabbed the man’s legs to get them into the bag, then heaved his shoulders through.

  Rael reached for the gun.

  “You really want him armed?”

  She snorted. “Right. Get the gun and the blanket. I’ll grab the spotter.”

  Dave found the switch to turn the camouflage off, stuffed the blanket into his bag, then the gun. Trotted back to the spotter.

  “I think you broke her jaw.”

  “Serves her right for hurting my hand.” He scooped up the pistol and dropped it in his bag, and then stepped over to where she’d been and found another blanket when he stepped on it. Quick fold and stuff, then they were galloping down the stairs.

  With a wave the car turned black.

  “You drive. I’ll take Scar and the damaged car back to Versalle. You act like you were here all along, and this is the car Izzo came in.”

  “Right.” As Dave pulled up beside the rear-most of the three cars, the other guards surrounded Izzo and escorted him inside. Rael jumped out, took the wheel of the center car and drove off. Dave pulled into that spot and stopped.

  The doorman, and a couple of youngsters were looking from him, back into the restaurant.

  The only witnesses. And all they probably saw were a bunch of alarmed guards.

  A police car pulled up. Dave brushed off his uniform jacket, and walked out to meet them.

  “We heard a report of a gunshot.”

  Dave shrugged. “Might have been, so we over-reacted, as usual . . . then nothing. So we let Izzo out of the car.” He shrugged again.

  Nothing to see here, move along.

  The policeman stepped back to his car, talked on the radio for a bit then drove away.

  You know . . . I really hope this was an unusually busy day for Rael.

  Chapter Thirty

  Cleanup

  11 Shawaal 1415

  “Arno, are you busy tomorrow?”

  Arno blinked at his com, stepped to the side of the walk to stop, not that there were many people around this late. “Hi, Aunt Rael. Saturday? I have to run in the morning, then I’m free for the rest of the weekend." He could feel his grin widening. “So I’d be delighted to help in any skullduggery.”

  “Gah. Haven’t heard that term for decades. What are you studying in that snobby trade school?”

  “Science, mostly. And karate. Man, I should have taken more karate. Oh well.”

  “So . . . why don’t I pick you up at, umm, eight your time?”

  “Sure. Meet you at the main entrance, then.”

  Arno stared at his comm for a long moment. I wonder what a Presidential Agent needs me for? Something dimensional, no doubt. But what?

  “Move it punk!”

  He glanced over; two of the Team Trainees who thought they owned the campus. He sidestepped onto the grass and went back to staring at the comm.

  “Beta.” The teamers walked on.

  I wonder if she’ll tell me what’s going on? And . . . I suppose that if I’m going to get an interesting job, I ought to get on the Team Track.

  He pocketed the comm and resumed progress toward the cafeteria. And of course the Teamers had met up with several others, and then stopped to chat up a girl . . . Oh great, Ryol. Figures she’d not realize she should be cautious around that lot.

  As one of them stepped closer, Arno shot out a tiny little shield, flat against the ground, under the guy’s foot. It slid, he windmilled his arms for balance, hitting the guys on either side as he staggered and caught his balance. By which time, Ryol had stepped back, laughing as she walked away. Arno circled the group—who were all kidding the clumsy one—and joined her.

  She was still snickering. “Thanks, Arno. That was slick. And they didn’t even notice it. What do you think? Shall I shave my head?”

  Arno snickered. “What would Mother say? Or . . . Milo?”

  “Right. That settles it.” She waved at the gang. “I’m going to shave my head.”

  Gior and Voyr looked horrified, and Pussy laughed. “Is Milo really that bad?”

  Ryol snorted. “No! It’s the Team Trainees. They’ve started going out of their way to . . . encounter me.”

  “Eeps!”

  Arno nodded. “Five of them. Not that they’d do much in broad daylight, but . . .”

  Gior snorted. “Before you do anything drastic, let me show you how to do it up with fancy hairpins. Sharp fancy hairpins.”

  The girls all put their heads together, and started talking about stylish weaponry, as they collected food and grabbed a table. Sunny and Arno swapped glances and sat far enough away from the girls to avoid hearing about which parts of male anatomy ought be targeted with various . . . bits of jewelry.

  Milo walked up with his tray . . . caught a snatch of the girls conversation and joined the guys. “What triggered that?”

  “Teamers.” Sunny rolled his eyes. “Pack of perverts. I thought the School was trying to drop that sort.”

  Milo grunted. “They claim they’ve gotten rid of the rapist behavior, but they’re still aggressive, large, and muscular, so that’s how they try to impress women.”

  Arno nodded. But I still didn’t like the way they were shifting to surround Ryol.

  “So, anything going on this weekend?” Sunny looked hopeful. “Any new vids out?”

  Arno sighed. “Maybe Sunday. Tomorrow . . .”

  “You study.” Milo shook his head. “Have you ever considered having fun?”

  “Science is fun.” Arno kept his face straight. And doing something with Aunt Rael even more so.

  ***

  At eight the next morning, a ute pulled up to him and he hopped in.

  Rael grinned at him. “So, Arno. I need a gate closed. And no questions asked.”

  “No questions? Oh darn. Can I speculate? Are you going to maroon an evil villain? Oops, sorry, that was a question.”

  She laughed and pulled out. “Would I do this for less than an even dozen?”

  “Really? Cool! I shouldn’t ask what they’ve done, should I?”

  “Well, things got . . . really busy yesterday. I have an Evil Organizer who was planning several unfortunate events, and, umm, some Henchmen, Minions, Mad Bombers, and assorted other bad guys.”

  “All in one day?” Arno blinked . . . that explosion in Italy?

  “Yep. What I do to keep the election peaceful. So these people are going to get dumped on an unused Evac World, and the gate closed. After the election we can fetch them, if we want to. The Evil Organizer . . . not at all sure I want him at large. Ever. But the eventual disposition is above my pay grade.”

  “Huh. That school bus . . .”

  “Probably the same bombers, probably the same . . . candidate. If he manages to win the election . . . it’s going to get interesting.”

  Arno swallowed. “And you’ll be working for him!”

  “No, I won’t. My resignation will hit Urfa’s desk within minutes of the election results. And possibly the same if it’s anyone but Izzo.”

  Arno eyed her.

  She giggled. “I know, I know! Izzo’s as bad as Ox when it comes to trusting, or not trusting me. But I could transfer to External Relations, or take an indefinite leave of absence, or . . . something. I trust Izzo. If he recalled me, I’d know it wasn’t for any corrupt personal, or political gain. Or revenge.”

  She turned off and stopped in line to take the Gate City Corridor. Then across town to the SGA. She was waved through, nothing but a curious glance toward Arno.

  They probably think we’re headed for Disco.

  They turned early, though and drove through the “Hub Nine” gate. Rael swept a quick look around as they drove down a well-kept gravel road.

  “There are four Worlds being mined off this hub, and twenty that are not in use. They set them up this way, so none of the hubs get too busy and start having traffic issues. We need g
ate twenty-two.”

  “Ooo! What’s on the other side of it?”

  “A couple of housing clusters, but they never brought in the city center business squishies. A couple of mining companies looked it over and didn’t bid,” Aunt Rael shrugged. “No one wants it, so it’s perfect for my needs.” She slowed and turned. “If you could pop out and move that barrier?”

  Arno jumped out and grabbed the red plastic barrier and swiveled it out of the way. She drove past him and disappeared into the white cyclone of the gate. Arno swung the barrier back into place and jumped into the whirlpool.

  And out onto a gravel road fast being reclaimed by tough grasses.

  Aunt Rael stepped out of the car and looked around. “I think you should stay here at the gate. I’m going to dump these . . . damaged humans out twenty kilometers at a housing cluster.”

  Arno looked around. “Any large predators around?” He squinted at movement in the distance. “Cattle? Bison?”

  “Yes, and wolves and bears and so forth.”

  Arno looked back at the gate. “I need to take a look at the inbetween, and see if I can figure out where this world is. You know, just in case you decide to not just lose them.”

  “Right.” She bit her lip, in indecision. “So do that and . . . then we’ll drive on to where I’m leaving these guys, and . . .can you do that light warp?

  “Oh, umm, Pretty much. You don’t want them to see me?”

  “Exactly.”

  Arno grinned. “No problem. Just . . . give me a minute here, first.”

  He sat on the gravel and closed his eyes. The fizzing blue was getting disturbingly easy to see. What if sometime I can’t stop seeing it?

  He shoved the thought aside and pulled back until he could see all the worlds around this one, and see all the silvery lines of the permanent gates, see the One World, the source of the lines, the hub worlds, that hub world, and the pattern that swirled around and up to them. Past them.