Migrant Thrive: Thrive Space Colony Adventures Box Set Books 7-9

by Ginger Booth

  And the landing did indeed knock the wind out of the guy, especially with Ben landing on his chest. He was still near-paralyzed in astonishment anyway. The captain added to his befuddlement by immediately unbuckling the man’s pants. Ben couldn’t see another way to detach the sword sheath.

  “Compromising position,” Clay quipped, jogging to join them. He’d dropped from the cable as soon as he realized what Ben was up to. They were only a hundred meters or so from the next tower now, the other members of the party now disembarking from their zip-hooks.

  Ben flashed him a grin. “‘It’s not like that, Cope! I needed his sword!’ If my husband ever finds out, I’ll know it was you.” He manhandled his wannabe pursuer onto his face. He finished peeling the sword belt off of him and took a seat on his rump to keep him down.

  “You know how to use one of these?” He offered the heavy belt and sword to Clay.

  The older man shook his head, but relieved him of the weapon. He slipped the sheath off the belt, and tossed that back. “Use that to bind him. This part works as a heavy stick.” A padded stick rather than a bladed one, when swaddled in the sheath.

  “Question him here, or stun him for later?” Ben asked.

  “I don’t want to carry him. Question him how?”

  The man was trying to rise, and emitting Deutsch again. He tried to sneak a hand into the breast of his outfit. Ben grabbed the arm and bent it behind his back in an arm-lock. Clay assisted by pinning his other arm with a boot.

  “How many languages can you say, ‘Do you understand Spanish?’” Ben suggested.

  That much Clay managed in Spanish, English, Deutsch, Italian, and French. The man stilled at Deutsch. “But we have no one who speaks Deutsch.”

  “Not quite true.” Ben fished out his comm tab with his free hand, and held it where the guy couldn’t see it. “Zan? Ben. I need to talk to Prosper. Computer? Please translate the following to Deutsch. Correction, German. Quote. Who are you, and what do you want with us? Unquote. Computer, also translate reply.”

  Ben had an excellent working relationship with his ship’s AI, developed over a dozen years. The goon was somewhat less cooperative. But Clay was a gifted interrogator, playing good cop to Ben’s bad boy. Soon they got the picture. The Prince of Wizards of Deutschland – or possibly Cantons-wide – was intrigued and angered by their theft of the laptops in France. Heap Big Bozo wanted them all alive for interrogation and torture.

  Clay suggested at that point that perhaps he meant, ‘questioning.’ But the goon insisted that torture was in the offing. Creative detail followed enumerating medieval racks and crucifixion, water-boarding and bleeding and yanking of toenails and more sensitive body parts.

  “He wouldn’t do that to a brother wizard,” Ben argued.

  The goon grew significantly more polite after that, almost forthcoming. Clay followed up on the ‘Prince of Wizards’ thing. Apparently this Schauble dude – prince of goons – was a top advisor to the ruler of Deutschland, the Chancellor. Neither were hereditary titles. He wasn’t like a crown prince. Rather he clawed his way to the top of the wizard pile on his own merits. The Chancellor likewise, except he clambered to the heights on the backs of merchants and politicians.

  Deutschland was bigger than the other cities. That much was apparent from orbit. Sass merely chose to work her way up from Britain. That way she could learn her first lessons where she understand the language, just as Ben did with France.

  Sadly, the goon didn’t know much. Ben toyed with the idea of surrendering, in exchange for an introduction to this Schauble guy. But the litany of torture devices gave him pause. He preferred to find another way to approach the Chancellor – or Kanzler, in Deutsch.

  If indeed they needed to deal with Deutschland at all. Milo assured them Italia was a chaotic pit of thieves. Iberia was pretty, painted in cheery bright pastels completely at odds with the pious fearful mutterings of furtive citizens robed in black. But Hellada was wonderful. Each city-state was proudly sovereign and made its own decisions.

  Ben doubted that. Money is power. In practice, he bet Deutschland called the shots on this world, while graciously humoring its neighbors to wear their favorite color of fig leaf. The only other city-state big enough to argue with them was Britain. But Britain’s two train lines to Deutschland’s six tended to suggest a preference to stand off.

  “I’m done here. You?” Ben asked Clay.

  Clay shrugged. “Goons aren’t well-informed. Because this happens to them a lot. Sorry.”

  “Not a problem.” Ben rose and drew his stunner. “Tell your princely Schlob that I’d be happy to speak to him by radio. Stress radio.” He waited while Prosper’s AI prompted the man to repeat the message.

  Then Ben shot the guy twice in the head before the man could scrabble away. That treatment should give them a five hour head start or so. The other two musketeers hadn’t shown. Perhaps they were dead, or at least too injured to run a couple klicks at speed. Ben deployed the sword belt to bind the unconscious man, which might or might not expand their lead time. Then they set off to rejoin the others waiting at the tower.

  “To Deutschland?” Clay inquired, once they were well out of hearing.

  “Hell, no. To Hellada. Sounds nice.”

  Without the unwelcome distraction of the Three Musketeers, Ben found the zip-lines a blast! Clearly these were designed not for the convenience of tourists, but for young military men during their most testosterone-addled years.

  Ben and Clay’s nanites kept them trained exactly at that level of the helpful hormone.

  They hit the next tower as fast as the zip-line T-wheels would run, literally. Well, Ben had second thoughts at the last moment and flipped off to hit the ground at low-g. Clay’s nanites could heal broken bones within an hour or so, though, so he took it splat against the flat backstop provided.

  Remi and Milo, vying for the lovely Elise’s attentions, dawdled behind, intentionally swinging their T-hooks and crooning. Ben’s exhortations to hurry up didn’t reach across the distance.

  So he and Clay headed to the tower-top for the view. But a panoramic view of hard-baked ground was dull, so they hastened on for the last leg into the eastern wall of Italia. Ben intended to be inconspicuous.

  Instead, they came flying in at max zip-line speed over a city canal into a big fountain plaza next to the train station. The locals, who normally kept their heads down and minded their own business, instead all looked up. Citizens scattered out of their way, hooted, clapped, and cheered.

  Well, if you’re going to be that way about it… Ben clambered down to hang from his T by his hands. He pumped his legs to swing. Not to be outdone, Clay played along. Just as the wall grew perilously close, Ben let go on the backswing. He neglected to check below first, and landed in the plaza fountain, laughing out loud.

  Clay opted for taking the wall on his boots again, squatting as he made contact to absorb the momentum. Ben cheered with the rest as the older man – who looked younger – limped to rejoin him.

  Several clothing merchants swarmed to sell Ben a dry outfit. While Ben got himself decked out in workman’s Italian duds, Clay sat to let his broken foot-bones knit. By then, the laggards caught up with their precious luggage.

  They briefly admired this town’s canal-shaped ponds, then flew away in the hair-raising pod-train to Hellada.

  Cantons’ smallest city-state was love at first sight. Hellada offered only a single train, and its sole industry by the train station was to part tourists from their money. They stepped out of the standard geodesic train station into a fantasy seacoast. Artful craggy white rocks rose around an enormous deep pool with fine-sand beaches. Up the goat trails beckoned short blocky houses whose people waved from roof-top terraces.

  It was warm in this grotto of faux stone. Unlike the Renaissance wannabes in the other cities, the natives wore loose pastel cottons and plenty of sun-browned skin. Or rather, star-drive-browned. Above the ‘sea’ a blazing star drive dangled from the low d
ome. Hellada’s walls were shorter than the intimidating cities, a mere 10 meters to France’s 25. Short enough that the star drive was bright.

  A host, perhaps 21 years old, scurried to greet them. He introduced himself as Lukas. His English was terrible. Nevertheless, he did speak English. Once the language of choice was identified, he sent a minion to bring him a helpful paperback dictionary.

  Lukas had many minions, all young. Whatever the man expected to do today, his job now was to divine the visitors’ wishes, and subcontract out making their dreams come true.

  Soon the travelers wore bathing suits whose design owed more to the 21st century than the 15th. Lukas led them to a darling sub-grotto, out of sight of the cliff-side dwellings, where a small spring dribbled down the rock face. A table was set for them on a lightly drowned sandbar, so they could splash tired feet while dining. Beautiful women brought platters of fruit and cheeses and whole vegetables, and wine.

  The price of this meal, and new wardrobes for all, was astronomical. Ben happily paid the tab. Musketeer 3’s wallet proved generously stocked. They ate and splashed and laughed for a full two hours. Ben taught the others to play chicken in the water. Elise rode on Remi’s shoulders as Milo rode Clay, as they tried to shove each other off into the shallows. After the game, Remi seemed to win a definite edge over Milo in the romancing Elise department.

  But then sadly Ben made his team pack it in. Time to vanish into the hinterlands before the musketeers sent reinforcements.

  “Aw, but we’re tired!” Elise argued.

  Ben raised hands in surrender. “I agree. But we can’t sit by the train station.”

  It was worth it though. Until now, Ben despaired of finding a single city-state to offload the Sanks. In Hellada they could be happy.

  “Lukas! Do you have a local wizard?” Ben handed over payment, with a generous tip, to their master of ceremonies.

  Lukas’ face fell. “You are wizards?”

  “Not exactly. But we must speak with a wizard. A local Greek wizard. Not the nasty Deutsch or French kind.”

  Milo looked offended. But Lukas understood the distinction completely. “Yes. Come. We must leave the resort.”

  35

  Cope had seen a chateau like this before. But only in an old Earth movie. During the interminable voyage to Denali, five months each way, he and Ben watched a lot of movies. The historical kind tended to make the most sense.

  The doors, sized to impress, opened to a huge entry hall. Before them, carpeted in red, a grand staircase rose to a landing. There it split, with flights to the left and the right accessing a second floor gallery above. On the ground floor, an arch to the left led to an enormous dining room with grand piano. To the right was a library.

  “Shut the door!” Monami cried urgently.

  A flying thing swooped past Cope, who stepped backward in surprise instead of doing as asked. Sass caught the door barely in time, and the bird – it was an actual bird! – screeched and caromed upstairs.

  “That’s a hawk!” Sass blurted in astonishment.

  “Yes!” Monami agreed, eyes glowing. “The servants, they are terrified. I made him for the city. But the burghers, they beg me to take him back. He is too frightening.” He shrugged and waved them toward the library. “Please, sit. I will serve tea.”

  “We’ve just eaten,” Sass attempted to beg off. Kassidy flanked the wizard on his other side.

  Cope pretended to admire a painting on the wall as the others passed into the library. He stepped as softly as possible toward a door beneath the staircase. He wanted nothing more than to explore the parts of this mansion not meant for the eyes of visitors.

  “And you must be the wizard!” the crackpot of Benelux said, suddenly loud behind him. Rats. “Or, among your people, do women also study the arcane arts?”

  Cope conceded defeat and walked toward the library. “I am an engineer. I’m not sure what a wizard is.”

  “A little bit of magic, a sprinkle of technology,” Monami replied. They walked side by side to join the women, already perched on a sofa before a generous faux fireplace. Monami waved a hand to make it dance with lights like firecrackers. The lizards resting on the hearth took exception to this, and waddled off, these big ones slower moving than the scampering little ones Cope absconded with for his children.

  “Explain the ball,” Monami demanded, his tone suddenly turning harsh.

  “Emergency airlock,” Cope conceded. The Saggy invention was hardly a secret. Abel stocked a cubic meter of the bubble kits, an easy sell. Cope set his ball of lizards down, claiming a short sofa to himself. Then he brought out a bubble wand, and cast it so that all three of them, plus the wizard, were inside. He had to stoop to fit all three couches in.

  But he tried a flourish flick of the wrist as a nod to local custom. Kassidy narrowly avoided getting her hair stuck in the gummy stage.

  Monami’s eyes narrowed. “And the air source?”

  Cope pulled out a canister and squirted a blast into his own face. “Standard nitrox.” Humans left Earth with this technology, unimproved on Mahina to this day. Engineers were too scarce to waste on solved problems. “Do you have better?”

  “No,” Monami conceded.

  Cope wished he could see behind the man’s mask. Angry? Calculating? The eyes could mean either. They weren’t friendly.

  Sass broke in. “Monsieur Monami, we are grateful to meet you –”

  His arm shot out, palm flat, clearly telling her to stop. “Is she too a wizard?” he asked Cope.

  “She is a commander. Our friend Kassidy is a communicator. She explains to others what she sees.”

  “Her flying balls?”

  “Cameras,” Cope admitted unhappily. “So we can see better.”

  “Monsieur,” Sass attempted again. “I’m afraid it might seem we are spying –”

  “Ha! Are you saying you were not?” Monami held his hand to silence her again. “And your name, wizard?”

  “They call me Cope. Short for John Copeland.”

  Monami cycled a hand like a roller in impatience. “Doctor, wizard, sir? How do I address you?”

  “Cope,” he repeated, puzzled. “My name.”

  “You are not honored among your people?”

  Cope fought to suppress a smile. “Some days.” Some days they threw me in jail. “My kind are not common on my world. We are valued.” If not settlers. “But Kassidy has more prestige. People know her. Sass as well. Not as many know an engineer.” Though if anyone was going to change that, he conceded it would be him. The instantaneous warp drive, opening travel between star systems, was the invention of the century.

  “Where do you come from?”

  Cope looked to Sass unhappily. But Monami stared fixedly at him, hand still stretched to silence the women. “Not this world.”

  “I knew it. You are from Steppe!”

  The engineer shrugged. “We bring people who seek to relocate. We also bear goods that seek a market. Who would we speak to, who might have the authority to negotiate these things? Is that you?”

  “What’s wrong with your own world? We have problems enough of our own. As I’m sure your spying has learned.”

  Cope sat to the sofa and lifted placating fingers. “I like my world fine. I’m a broker, not a beggar. The captain and I brought other people here who seek a new world.”

  “Merchants. And would-be invaders.”

  “Merchants, yes,” Sass replied, ignoring the man’s rude hand. “No invaders. Only a small delegation, to talk. If they find a city willing to take them, we bring back others. But only after agreement is reached. First we learn whether Cantons is where they’d like to go.”

  Monami still wouldn’t speak to Sass, only Cope. “But you claim you yourself are not one of this delegation.”

  “More like the merchant,” Cope agreed. “But mostly I make the st– spaceship fly. Not much of a diplomat, really. I’d love to talk to you about technology, though. The bird and lizards are first rate.”
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  Monami waved this away. “Women’s business, not mine! I enjoy the creatures, of course. Who have you spoken with yet in the Wizards Guild?”

  “You.”

  Monami didn’t believe him. “And the burghers? The Queen in Britain?”

  “Uh, nope. Just you.”

  Sass growled, “We are trying to understand your situation here. If all cities appear unfriendly to our goals, then we should leave. Without causing upset.”

  “Upset!” the wizard cried. “No one has visited this world since the founding! Avoid upset?”

  Cope rocked his head. “You’re not upset?”

  The wizard sank into his cushions. “Yes. You’re quite right.”

  Cope attempted to change the subject. “Ceramics. You do a lot with ceramics. I’d like to understand that. And the controllers, for your fire tricks.” He rolled a hand to indicate the still-spitting fireworks in the fireplace. “Your rings? Embedded accelerometers? Or do you whisper to them when they flash past your mouth? General processors that communicate with your base system for natural language processing. Then transmit activation signals as ordered.”

  “Ah! You are indeed one of us!” Monami mused.

  Cope pursed his lips. Hopefully his lion mask hid that. “No. I’m not.”

  “Well, yes, there’s that. What about ceramics? Porcelain is a technology thousands of years old.” A slight edge to the wizard’s voice suggested a test.

  “You’re metal poor,” Cope countered. “You do things with ceramics I’ve never seen before.” He rapped the leg of the table next to him. “Not my field. But porcelain is too brittle for a table leg. Crap conductor, too. Yet I think I’ve seen ceramic circuits?”

  Kassidy broke in. “How did he catch us in a ring of fire?”

  “He didn’t.” Cope tipped his head toward the fireplace. “Holographic projectors. He waited for us in a spot where projectors were available. The animals are alive, though.” To his Mahinan soul, the party tricks with light were silly. The scuttling lizards and flying hawk were real magic, though.