by Pam Uphoff
Tales were told . . . and the new guys didn't believe a word of it. But the beer flowed, the tour moved on, various spots of interest to soldiers were sampled and a good time was had.
In the morning there was the expected hangover. Fortunately Jaime had light duty.
Mostly making lists of things they needed to get back up to speed.
Office equipment. Especially new computers. There were two elderly models still hanging on, but beyond those carefully hoarded machines there was only hand written notes. Jaime shuddered at the thought of transcribing twenty years of his careful observations of the local magic, and the magic up in the Kingdom of the West. In fact he'd better plan on typing up every report he'd ever written for Captain Orobona. Because the United Earth Intelligence Agency will want everything. Assuming they remember me. Will I be welcomed back with open arms?
Vehicles. They'd started with eighteen gyps; all the working gyps had been stolen. These few had been in the shop where they'd been waiting repair. They were down to four still operating. He'd better see about a list of replacement parts to get the rest back in service. Unless they just wanted to replace them altogether.
Uniforms for everyone. Personal hygiene kits. God! A sonic razor sounded like heaven. And deodorant. He'd noticed a few disdainful looks. Hadn't been sure if it was the smell or the twenty year old uniforms. After they'd taken back the base, well, the kilometer wide circle of the base that had been teleported here, they'd searched all the boxes and found new uniforms . . .and then stored them while they adopted native garb. However carefully stored, the fabric was definitely fragile. And their boots were definitely non-reg.
But the ranks are right—pending review of Captain Orobona's field promotions.
Well, I never did feel like an officer.
We need a catalog to order lots of personal stuff from. In theory, we all ought to have twenty years pay waiting for us.
A quick knock on the door. Kenton stalked in. "We're going to be disbanded."
"The whole militia? Crap." Jaime huffed out an angry breath. "I suppose I ought to have seen that coming. Bloody Hell."
"Yeah. All that time you spent knocking sense and order into our heads, wasted." Kenton slumped. "What do I do now?"
Jaime bit his lip. "That . . . is a good question. I don't know what General Soeder's orders are. I don't know if he's here to stay, or just . . . checking that the Oners are gone, and then we can all go home. Except . . . "
"Except us Natives. You're going to just abandon us."
Jaime opened his mouth to deny . . . "I don't know." He sat back and rubbed his temples, feeling suddenly lost. He's my little brother. Sort of. And . . . what about all the halfer kids? Everyone's wives? The guys last night . . . OK, soldiers and prostitutes, can't expect respect there. But something about the way they called every good looking woman . . . and some really young girls . . . natives, whores, cunts, bitches . . . this isn't going to go well. "I don't . . . I can't even guess what's going to happen now. The guys who are married can apply for their wives and kids to be allowed across, but they'll always be second class . . . persons. Never citizens." He met the other man's gaze. Remembered the scrappy boy who'd help them escape. Almost thirty years old now. "You are screwed. I think maybe you ought to get the guys together, and go talk to the City Fathers. Suggest that they may want to bolster their police force since . . . No?"
"No. Colonel Kong told us they were disbanding the civilian police altogether, and taking over patrolling the city themselves." He gave a snort. "And they fired all the domestic staff here in the palace. Told them to move out."
"Oh . . . words fail me . . . " The staff was now mostly elderly women, some from the harem but most the original servants, and a few old men. They'd stayed, and kept the palace running for nineteen years. "The old water works building. Is it still mostly empty?"
Kenton cocked his head. "Just storage for broken down machinery, now."
"Go check who owns it. If it's nothing we . . . General Soeder . . . can touch, we'll use it for temporary housing, both for the militia and the staff who haven't got family to go home to. I'll see Orobona, and make sure everyone gets paid . . . Damn it all."
"Yeah. We never did get to really try to infiltrate the magic community, up in the Kingdom. Guess we never will." Kenton cocked his head. "What evil thought are you thinking? I know that expression."
"We don't have to be so careful any more. Maybe I can finally sell someone on an infiltration." Jaime grinned. "And some native assets who can honestly say they were born in Fascia will be just the ticket."
Kenton grinned. "And we know who has got that glow. All we need is a location, and a lot of fast talk. But right now, I've got to pack. We've been told to 'go home.' Blitherin' idiots." He ducked back out.
Jaime looked at his list and sighed. Here I am, trying to be a good little soldier. To earn the right to go home. To call Earth home, finally.
He stared blankly at the papers on his desk.
What about Mom and Dad? They're . . . sixty and sixty-four. They may not even be there anymore. Or . . . what if . . . no, surely they've rediscovered Purple. So they may have retired. Unless something happened. Jaime felt suddenly faint. I have to get back to Earth and check on them!
He snatched up his list and marched down the hall. He needed something to do, somewhere to go . . .
One of the new officers had a girl trapped against the wall. " . . . I'll make sure you have fun."
"No! Let me go." Borderline panic in her voice.
Jaime cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir. Miss Harbin is the daughter of an Earther. I think that it is contrary to good order to treat the daughter of a fellow soldier . . . improperly."
The officer spun around and looked him up and down. Dripped sarcasm. "Oh. It's so nice to have an elderly private lecturing me on how to treat a native whore."
Deidra was making good use of the diversion and scuttling down the hall.
"We don't employ prostitutes. If the lieutenant needs a guide, I can show him bordellos that will cater to any tastes . . . other than raping fifteen years olds whose daddy will be under your command."
The lieutenant stiffened. Glanced beyond him.
"Ah, there you are Felis. Got that report?"
Jaime turned in relief. "Yes sir. And may I say we need computers, lots of computers, yesterday?"
Captain Orobona eyed the new Lieutenant, for a long moment, then turned his back on him. "Come with me."
The captain walked into his office and closed the door. "That's the third incident I've heard of. Nothing irreparable. Yet. You have any suggestions?"
Jaime winced. "I think all the married men need to rent or buy houses in town and get their families out of here. The harem areas could be used as barracks, the far wing as offices. Unless General Soeder wants to relocate everyone and everything to the base." The exasperation started coming out in his voice tones. "And treat the city like hostile territory. He's not just disbanding the Militia, he's told the City Fathers he's disbanding the police and his patrols will take over."
Orobona rubbed his temples like he was the one with the headache. "I know. The City Fathers are having a hard time adjusting to the idea of me as an army officer and not the Amma."
Jaime snorted. "I suspect it's the idea of you not being in charge that is the hard part. I doubt they understand you just turning the reins over to this complete stranger."
Orobona nodded. "Almost as much trouble as I'm having. Now, what are we going to do to soften the . . . impact."
"I've got Kenton checking out locations where the militia and the staff can live temporarily. What about their pay? Does the army have a policy about severance pay for civilian employees? And some of them are pretty old. How about pensions?"
"Felis, you play dirty. I'll . . . update my knowledge of the current regs and get everyone as much money as I can."
***
It was . . . very odd, being part of a huge organization, again. Reduced to bei
ng a computer file of emotionless data in the eyes of the people who controlled his life.
And sitting in meetings, listening to complete strangers talk about what they were going to do to him. With him. A meeting for Earthers only. The officers and the ambassador and his staff were up front.
General Pierre Soeder had three hundred fresh, enthusiastic troops. Armed to the teeth, with armored gyps and tanks, a trio of helicopters. Heavy construction equipment hard at work creating a proper military base.
Jaime was propping up wall at the far end of the room. Feeling badly sidelined.
They don't realize I'm from Purple, else I wouldn't be here at all. He eyed the people here and thought about the people who weren't here. My "little brother" by casual adoption. Captain, umm, Corporal Harbin's kids and his newborn grandson. Half native. If they let them immigrate to Earth, they'll be second class non-citizens forever. Lieutenant Hamza's kids, they've been raised half as Earth kids, with a sprinkling of a Solti's privileges. They won't like what's waiting for them on Earth.
The new general's staff gave a briefing on what had happened on Earth, the official version.
"From what little surveillance we managed, it looked like the Oners brought all of their trained native troops through—roughly five hundred soldiers—and perhaps double that number of civilians. When they had gotten all the people they wanted through the gate, they switched it to one of the mining worlds with a good climate, lightly settled by several native groups. And they all marched through again, and haven't been found. Yet."
He left out the rape, pillage, and kidnap the grunts talked about. Maybe it didn't happen.
Why would the Oners do that? It sounds more like the Amma and some very powerful magicians hijacked the Oners' plan to attack the Earth, and used it to escape what they expected to be a cataclysmic comet impact.
"And left explosives in numerous critical spots."
Captain Djhay was giving the brief. He was some desk jockey, looking like he smelled something bad. Well, no AC and no modern deodorant . . . We got used to it. You don't like it, distribute some supplies.
"We're still reconnecting to lost resource worlds. We found the larger colonies quickly, and the stranded exploration groups kept their beacons running. But on inhabited worlds, the natives often sabotaged the gate anchors. Twenty years on, we're operating normally, but we've flat out lost a quarter of all the worlds we once owned." He nodded at them. "You're the largest marooned group we've found this decade."
A hundred and four of us still alive and kicking. Twenty-two "pure Earther" children born since we got here. And there must be a couple hundred half-Earther kids around.
But they don't count.
"And our continued exploration brought us this direction. And now to this very troublesome world. What do you think we ought to do with it, Captain Orobona?"
Orobona hesitated. "Sir, what exactly are our goals? What are your orders? I may be operating on incorrect assumptions."
"We'll be starting with debriefing all of you. There are things we want, that may be here. We—the Gate Authority people, specifically—were investigating the local area, and picked up your badly under powered beacon.
"My orders, though, are to obtain some foreign gate tech."
"What? Here?" Captain Orobona boggled, and then got thoughtful. "They've got these things they call corridors. I haven't seen them myself . . . "
Jaime had been back to Karista once, since they'd opened the corridors to the public. But from the comments he'd heard, their army hadn't had them more than a few years. He shifted uneasily and drew the General's attention.
"I've seen the corridors, when I was up in Karista with the diplomats. Definitely a dimensional effect. But . . . they're recent. Within the last five years. Or at least that's when they started using them openly. I had heard that there were other preparations for the comet that might be these gates. That would be twenty years ago. So . . . I'm not sure they were developed here. Could those One people have given them a way to escape if the comet hit . . . or someone else . . . " He trailed off, realizing he was just speculating.
Soeder frowned. "We've found some empty worlds with . . . a different style of gate left in place, and traced them to this part of the Multiverse. Your gate anchor signal was weak, but with the techies concentrated on this region, we picked it up. Now we'll base here to find out where the tech is coming from." He glanced toward Jaime. "This world or as you say, more likely another, more technically advanced, world that is in contact with them. A remnant based on World War Five level tech is also a popular theory. There were a lot of early experiments on superconducting magnets, back then. The first AI level computers, and possibly even gates. The geneticists are quite convinced that these people are descended from genetic experiments, believed killed fourteen hundred years ago."
Orobona nodded. "Yes, that theory was already circulating when we lost contact. In the years we've been here, we've investigated a number of odd things. I don't know about gates though. We never detected the kind of energy usage that that would involve. I suspect any high tech enclave is operating out of the Kingdom of the West. To the best of my knowledge, that's the only nation with those 'corridors.' They are probably using 'magic' as an explanation for what they do. So far our information about the magic group is all second hand. We've moved people into position in Karista, in our embassy there, got a bare toehold into their high society, but no lines on the 'magic' as we've been calling it. But now we don't have to be so careful; we can push a bit."
The general nodded. "Right. Our first order of business is to find out if the knowledge of how those gates were made—or better yet, the equipment used—is here. Then we'll see how best to acquire it. Diplomacy, espionage, or force."
The general interlaced his fingers and studied the older soldiers.
"So, Captain Orobona, I see from your notes that you think a Native militia can actually be of assistance?"
Orobona nodded. "The local militia will free up men to concentrate on business, but more than that, they would be useful for infiltration. No accents, no unusual habits, and there are a lot of fairly distinct, almost racial, types here. The militia troops look like natives because they are. Also, we've a bunch of half Earther kids. The oldest are eighteen. They've grown up loyal to us, not this country. In fact, when we took over, we adopted a bunch of local orphans, so we've men in their twenties and thirties who look to us, whom we recruited into the militia as they matured. They'll be very handy."
And that sounded almost natural. But I'm pretty sure it was planned and rehearsed, at least in general.
"I see. We'll keep the militia for now, then. In case we can use them."
Chapter Eight
Winter 1395 px
On the Border
"Twenty-three corridors?" Xen tried to swing gracefully off the desperately sweating Pyrite. The winter coat that kept him comfortable in the north was not suited for the southern desert, even in winter.
He jerked the cinch loose and pulled the saddle off. "Don't shed it all, it'll be getting cold at night."
Pyrite blew out his breath and sidled into the shade of a jagged outcrop.
The camp was on the shoulder of a mountain, with a good view of the plains below. One corridor behind him, another on the south side of the camp. An almost vertical thirty foot cliff to the west that might actually give some shade in the afternoon. And equally steep drop off to the east.
Easterly looked over his shoulder. "We're on a smugglers path, suited only for mules and smart horses. Yellow walked, while towing the corridors. Can you throw corridors as far as your sister? I'd love to avoid the ten-miles-a-day-if-we're-lucky progress."
"Umm, I don't actually know how far she can throw them, but I can do fifty or sixty miles." He looked around.
"Lefty and Yellow are out there somewhere, stretching a corridor. Jeff Lovett's back after more magic training. He's running messages and Lefty sent Dominic and Fuchsia back home. To mind the office an
d carry messages at need. No point in all of us camping out until we've got something to spy on."
Deena snorted. "And it has nothing to do with them sniping at each other."
Easterly grinned. "Could be Lefty is hoping that left on their own they'll either figure out how to work together or Fuchsia will kill him. Either way the office will be a more pleasant place."
Xen sighed. "I must remember to thank him. I'm too tired to deal with the sniping. Is this going to be a permanent camp?"
They both nodded.
"Yes. It's inside t'Kingdom, barely, so we thought it would work as a staging spot. So if you've got a house inside a bubble . . . No? Oh well."
Xen grinned. "I have a tent in a bubble. My parents adjusted the time ratio. In theory I can seal myself inside and sleep for three or four days at a time, and pop out to do some work every four or five hours."
"Handy. So, Master Wizard, what do you advise?"
"As soon as Yellow gets back, I'll show her how to turn a series of short corridors into a single long corridor. Then while she's doing that tomorrow, I'll see how far I can throw a corridor and start making some fast progress."
Deena grinned. "They usually come back just before dark. So, tell me Master Wizard, do you know how to cook?"
"I grew up underfoot at witches' cooking contests. And helped out at Harry's until Flare took over. What have you got in the way of ingredients?"
Easterly pointed at a pile of sacks. Xen shook his head in dismay and raided his mother's bubble for extras. And spices.
The meatballs were about done, the sauce simmering and the pot of water boiling and ready for the fettuccini when Lefty and Yellow staggered wearily out of the corridor to the south.
They talked while they ate, Xen fighting sleep . . . Something about climbing half natural switchbacks up a cliff, and loose rocks and . . .
"Go to bed. Try out that speed sleeping bubble, Xen." Lefty shook his head. "Should have dragged Q away from the University."