Heirs of Crown and Spear (Wine of the Gods Book 12)

by Pam Uphoff

  Dancer

  Earth Gate (2014)

  The Lawyers of Mars

  Fancy Free

  Writing as Zoey Ivers

  YA Cyberpunk Adventures:

  The Barton Street Gym

  Chicago

  Atlantis (2014)

  Fantasy:

  Demi God

  Excerpt from an Upcoming Release

  The Fiend

  Pam Uphoff

  Chapter One

  15 Jumada 1393 Year of the Prophets

  New York, North American Division, One World

  Assignment day.

  Fean Withione Tunisia showered, dressed, checked that everything was packed and walked out the door. A first assignment on one of the tropical islands would be nice. Or Paris. Nothing wrong with being cosmopolitan. "The Directorate School" as it was known, was a small college in a large university. A small intense college. When you arrived they assumed you had already acquired the basics. Then they assumed they knew what to do with you and tried to stick you on the desired track. Then they sent you off to work. In one of the Directorates.

  The Directorates were under the control of the President, as the Ministries were controlled by the Council, and the Priests and Princesses by the One. A nice tidy three way balance of power.

  The Internal Directorate concerned itself with crime and political malfeasance at home. The External Directorate was exploration and espionage, in target worlds and in the colonies. Occasionally war, but that always brought in the Ministry of War and the Council.

  Interior was broken up into seven Regions. Exterior was split between, at the moment, the Target Worlds, Earth Sector, Comet Fall Sector and now the new Embassy office. And the eleven Colonies, of course.

  Fean shuddered a bit at the thought of ending up on a Colony World. And the Target Worlds were hopeless, worse than the Colonies.

  "And anywhere they assign me will be better than those pathetic internships. The people there were impossible. Amazingly poorly managed offices."

  Fean checked her reflection in the mirror. Perfect as always. Makeup was for other people. Paris would be excellent. She decided she'd maneuver for it. Not insist—that way led to confrontations and ego threats and expulsion. I came close enough in the Delhi Regional Office.

  She knew perfectly well just how much of a bitch she was.

  Unfortunately, so did the counselor she drew. She taken several classes from him.

  "Ah. Fean Withione. Yes, I remember you well. I hadn't realized that you transferred in from the Princess School. Very unusual. I see that you've been switched from archaic languages to history, to sociology to combat to information management to . . . archaic languages. And you made quite an impression during your internships. I'm a bit surprised you're still in the program." He smiled nastily. "But don't worry. I have the perfect assignment for you. Needs a well rounded person, and you'll be delighted to know that the Director himself strongly recommended you be given this opportunity."

  Alarms started going off in her head. The Director? Himself? Did some of those moronic instructors actually complain to the Director? Or perhaps the District Administrator that I, umm . . .

  "Research Department." The counselor said.

  "I have no desire to poke around a library . . . "

  "A field study."

  "I certainly hope not on a some primitive World, I'd hate to over react to an assumption of female subordination by killing someone."

  "On a newly discovered World where the Twentieth Century Nazi Germany won the Second World War."

  "Wait, not those blonde obsessed, Kitsch, Kretch, and Kinder Nuts?" She looked at him in horror. "We don't target Worlds like that."

  "Of course not. As I said, this is research." His voice chilled. "And it's Kinder, Kutche, Kirche. Children, kitchen, church."

  "Whatever. I won't fit in. They were blue-eyed blondes." She wasn't about to admit that there were days when she'd kill to be a blonde, instead of looking like any Multitude anywhere. Drop dead gorgeous Multitude, mind you . . .

  "The Information Team Leader says you'll blend into the background with the servants and no one will notice." His smiled widened as he realized how much she disliked role playing. Especially role playing a second class servant. He handed her a thin card. "Report to Ajha Clostuone."

  "The Team Assistant?"

  "The Team Leader."

  "You think that I'm going to be subordinate to a Clostuone? You think the Director would allow such a travesty?"

  His grin threatened to split his face. "Info Leader Ajha is one of our most experienced, most successful people. I'm sure you'll learn a lot—working under him."

  The mere suggestion that she would have sex with a Clostuone! That she would allow a "superior" to use her! Ha! No. Problem. This . . . Clostuone person was going to realize the error of his ways. In fact she bet she could make him regret he was ever born. Quickly.

  He picked up a data card. "The Team is staging from Gate City in six hours. Grab your bags and run for it."

  She clicked her teeth shut on any further reply, took the card and walked out.

  The card got her a seat on the train, dirty looks because of all her luggage—she didn't have a clue how much stuff to bring, what she might need—and on the other end, a guide who suggested she grab a cart and hurry.

  He led her to the ass-end of nowhere, a warehouse with two antique vehicles parked in the doorway and running.

  "Oh, good. Fean, right?" The man was tallish, with thinning brown hair. If there hadn't been a bit of glow about him, she'd have written him off as a Halfer. As it was, he was obviously just a Clostuone. "I was afraid you were going to miss the gate. Throw your stuff in the truck." He trotted back into the warehouse leaving her standing there. Her guide grabbed two of the bags and hauled them off toward the back of the truck. Fean scowled and juggled the three slightly smaller ones. The truck was about half full of rather cheap looking suitcases, crates crudely made out of actual wood, and lumpy sacks that she rather thought might be . . . potatoes? And then some cages. Lots of cages, actually, empty and nested inside each other.

  Then the rest of the group arrived. There was an undeniable Princess. An old one. Older than Fean's grandmother; she had actual wrinkles. And she needed to lose a few pounds. Or a few dozen. She was in a ridiculous costume, like some antique safari get up, from helmet to boots, a tan jacket with pockets everywhere, and a belt with what had to be some sort of pistol in a holster. She was peripherally aware of a couple of boys dodging around her and stowing her stuff; a couple of older men heading for the front of the vehicles, and the Clostuone. But most of her attention was on the Princess checking her out.

  "Humph!" The stout old woman turned away from Fean and spoke to the Clostuone. "She's going to be my maid?"

  Maid!

  "She's been halfway through Princess School, so she'll know the fake modesty and social flattery routine. Now we're out of time. Fean, in the truck please, and put this on." The Clostuone tossed her a sack and walked past. The boys hopped out of the back of the truck and they and the Princess walked forward.

  She stood there with her mouth half open, but when the car moved out, she grabbed a handy bar on the truck and swung aboard.

  The bag held a dress, plain. A washed out, dingy blue. A white apron. Stockings. Garter belt. White flats. It was Victorian Servant Chic. She wouldn't have been caught dead wearing something like this to a costume party. The dingy blue was a puddle of obvious poverty, the rest of it fairly shrieked "Master, take advantage of me!"

  The back of the truck was wide open. She peeled off her shirt and pulled the dress over her head before they got into more populated areas. By the time they reached the gate, she was properly clad, and allowed to sit with her mistress in the open car. Or rather, up front beside the Clostuone chauffeur.

  She gritted her teeth, forced a pleasant smile, twisted around in the seat to look behind her. Perhaps she could get some more information. "Hi. I'm Fean Withione Tun
isia."

  The old princess nodded. "Yes. I'm Soen Withione Fuego. For the duration of this mission, call me Madam Song Fuerst. I'm with the University of Paris Biodiversity Project." She nodded at the chauffeur. "While technically you are under the command of Info Leader Ajha, I will be in overall control of our mission to locate and capture numerous bird, mammal and reptile species now extinct upon our World, and found no place less hazardous than this odd World."

  One of the boys leaned forward, trying for a dazzling smile. "I'm Obhi Neartuone and that's Enda Withione on, ahem, Mother's other side. Hob and Dan, we're supposed to be twins."

  The old Princess smiled benignly. "Isn't it nice that my two boys could accompany me on my photographic safari of North America?" Her eyes sparkled. "And of course I couldn't go anywhere without my maid and chauffeur-butler. And then I hired two rough fellows to do all the dirty work. That's Idre and Egto in the truck. Ride and Leggy. Ajha, weren't you saying that you'd worked with them years ago?"

  Ahead, the gate detuned behind the vehicle ahead of them. Ajha eased up to the barrier as the blur refocused on a grassy plain.

  "Yes." The light turned green and Ajha accelerated rapidly through the gate. Squeeze, spin, thump. The car bumped over uneven ground and he turned it leftward, where she could see the line of a road. A dirt track.

  "Almost thirty years ago. They left the Information Teams for awhile, so they've lost a lot of seniority. If they say anything weird, well, just ignore it." Ajha slowed the car as the dirt track approached a paved road. "Now, Fean, you missed the briefing, so I'll give you the high points. On this World the Tungusta Event occurred thirty-three years later and a thousand miles west. Poof! No Mosckva. On our world, right about then, Hitler turned and attacked the Soviets. But here, Hitler was the savior, bringing supplies after the disaster. It set his plans back a couple of years, and gave him an unbeatable resource base. Now, there's a time slip. We've experienced sixteen hundred years, this world has seen only three hundred. It is politically united in the Fifth Reich, but technically this world has stagnated badly. There've been several rounds of various plagues, mostly influenza, but a couple of nasty ones out of Africa as well. The eugenics programs of the Nazi's have just about ended, but up till about ten years ago everyone had contraceptive implants and only the elite had more than a single child. The population of North America is about ten million, with a world population of less than a billion."

  "Good Grief. Are we going to target this world?"

  "It is tempting, with such a small population. But all the major ore bodies have been found and mined, even if not completely. Enough of the easy rewards are gone that we'll pass this world up. It's simply not worth getting into a shooting war."

  Song leaned forward. "But that won't stop scientific research. And fortunately for us, the depopulation has allowed the rebound of numerous threatened species."

  Ajha stopped at the edge of the road and turned the car off. The truck pulled up behind and everyone got out. "We placed the beacon back there a month ago, so pay attention." He pulled out a paper map, much folded. "Fean, I've got some miniature electronics for you. When we stop tonight I'll get them out. For now, this is the situation. We're in the Mississippi Flyway. A lot the migratory birds pass through, spring and fall. It is early spring, but we should be able to get your six species of small songbirds that spend the winter south of here, without having to travel far. We'll send the birds back across, then pick up the beacon and head for California. The roads will be atrocious, but the main problem will be avoiding attracting the attention of the authorities. North America is one of the few remaining areas with a rebel underground, so the Nazi's have a moderately sized occupation force here. If there is a problem, let Song and me handle it. Now, in the unlikely case we get separated, we'll all come back here."

  He lectured about how to find the place.

  Boooorrrring.

  Except . . . She was a little surprised to see him concentrating on Ride and Leggy. She tried to stifle curiosity about why the two men had left the Teams, but it didn't work. She'd have to find out, just to stop the itch.

  "And." The Clostuone looked around to catch everyone's attention. "From here on, we all speak German. Ride and Leggy are pretending to be locals, so they can use English, and of course we are all well educated and speak some English, when ordering food at restaurants and so forth. Madam Song, because you are Professor Doctor Fuerst, you especially need to remember to speak German. I'm Johan Brant, just a chauffeur, so call me Joe. Fern, don't speak too much until you've had time to listen to other people speaking, and pick up some of this world's nuances."

  Fean refrained from rolling her eyes. I speak four dialects of Old German! They all got back in the car and drove off.

  De Kalb was a tiny town, but the cross street was apparently one of the major east-west roads on the continent. So they had their pick of three restaurants and two hotels. In the restaurant, Madam and her sons sat at a nice table by the window. The help sat in the back by the kitchen. There were too many people around for Fean to open up and overwhelm the Clostuone. So she sat back and watched the interaction of the three men.

  "So, uh, Joe." Ride squirmed. "Looks like you've got twenty-four years seniority over me now. All in the field, too."

  Oh, ho. It wasn't just me, this whole team has been thrown together in haste.

  "Ah, you're a bit out of practice, but you'll be back to leading your own teams in no time. What have you been doing in the mean time?"

  Leggy's turn to squirm. "Once we were out of the hospital, we wound up doing desk work. I can't believe that much time has passed. I can't believe I lasted so long behind a desk. I never want to see an expenses spread sheet again."

  Ride nodded. "Nothing but sheer boredom behind the desk could have gotten me across again."

  She considered that with interest. They'd been injured, and so scarred—or scared—that it had been twenty-four years before they took field assignments again. And in the field, the points accumulate so much faster. Not to mention the pay, the weekend and holiday comp . . . "One! Were you on a dinosaur world?"

  They shook their heads. "Classified."

  "Joe" smiled. "No use digging, umm, Fern. We can't talk."

  Oh ho. And a survivor of the same. Un-hospitalized, or at least un-traumatized.

  He glanced toward the door, and his eyes narrowed.

  Fean glanced over, and spotted the uniformed men entering the restaurant. Big beefy blondes. Arrogant expressions. Wow! Cute. But no glow. What a pity. They're damn good looking on the outside. But yuck. Guess my virginity's safe here.

  Ajha had his eyes half closed.

  Fean softened her shields and her breath caught. The Team Leader had his shields down, no, only partly down, and he glowed as strongly as any Withione she'd ever met. I wonder what his actual numbers are? And . . . what is he doing?

  It was like a blanket of magic, or a low lying fog. Fean couldn't find the extent of it . . . His range is longer than mine! He's . . . counting soldiers.

  "They may just be passing through." His voice was a bare whisper, and his magic faded. He slumped. Obviously tired.

  Ha! You were impressive for a few minutes, but you couldn't keep it up, could you? Huh. You traded reach for duration. It looked powerful, but it wasn't really.

  I need to learn how to do that.

  "We'll just have a nice quiet night and see what they do tomorrow. Fern, Dr. Fuerst is . . . not cautious. Try to keep her quiet, and in your room until I say otherwise."

  Fean scowled, then hastily removed the expression from her face. What a coward, hiding from a pack of Natives! And ME? Babysitting a rude old princess? We'll just see about that, Team Leader Clostuone.

 

 

 
ook with friends