by Pam Uphoff
***
Unfortunately it was broad daylight in Gate City.
“Oof. I suppose I’d better at least stop by the office and see what’s been arranged for today’s challenge.”
Davi nodded, actually looking a bit sympathetic as he glanced in the mirror, then got busy driving.
Nothing disastrous in the lobby. Izzo headed up to the eighth floor and his own ridiculously large office.
“. . . your opinion. I’m his assigned bodyguard.” A stiff male voice, sounding young.
“Bodyguard?” Izzo stepped into Miss Kiel’s sanctum.
The man facing her turned . . . the boy . . . he can’t possibly have graduated.
He straightened, almost to attention. “Director Izzo. I am Elzy Withione Alcairo, assigned to be your bodyguard.”
Blue-eyed blond, handsome . . . braced for criticism? Ah, the right arm wasn’t quite straight, the fingers curled, wrist pulled inward a bit.
Kiel sighed. Loudly. “I told him you needed someone both fit and experienced.”
The boy was flushing, teeth clenched.
Izzo nodded at his arm. “What happened?”
“An accident last summer during my internship. Some tendon and nerve damage.” He was staring holes in the wall beyond Izzo’s shoulder. “I was on the Team Track. Excellent martial arts, and I’ve retrained to shoot left handed.”
“Right. Well . . . it hadn’t actually occurred to me that I needed a bodyguard . . .” Let alone a child straight out of the Directorate School, and with a crippled hand! “Did they send you to Embassy for a diagnosis?”
He stiffened further. “You mean, to the Comet Fall Hospital! They’re Medieval level Natives! How could they do anything where we failed?”
“Their magic is . . . different. Kiel, get him a pass.” Izzo looked back at the boy’s outraged expression. “El Zee, I’m your boss. Don’t screw up the first order I’m giving you.”
The incredibly efficient Miss Kiel held out a chip. “Your gate pass. Don’t lose it. You have an appointment in an hour, the bus leaves from the parking lot in fifteen minutes.”
“Go. See you when they release you, or tomorrow if you get back late. If you’re in the barracks here, plan on moving to the Gothic Horror soon.”
The boy blinked. Gave Izzo a puzzled look as he sidled past, then trotted for the elevator.
Miss Kiel sighed again. Loudly. “You should have sent him back to personnel and requested someone with experience. Sending a crip to protect you was a deliberate insult.”
“Indeed, but there’s no need to insult him. And . . . he didn’t quit when he was crippled. Even if the Comet Fall Witches can’t help him, I suspect he’ll do well.”
Now she was the one giving Izzo an odd look as he headed into his office.
Chapter Twelve
8 Rajab 1408 yp
Gate City, One World
"I couldn't resist their bloodlines." Xiat blushed. "They're related to some superb animals, not just on the track, but these bloodlines cross out very well to the heavier breeds for jumping. They're both right off the track, but the seller has a good reputation. I'll find someone to ride and train them to do something other than run fast over the next few months. Master Gordon said he'd hire someone to take care of the stable."
Izzo had his eyes on the two mares, and she couldn't tell if he was pleased or not. She stopped herself from babbling. I'm going to be very glad when this pregnancy is over, and I stop being so damned hormonal.
"They're beauties. Subtly different than the horses I grew up around." He switched a grin in her direction. "Mind you, I'm a bit out of practice, so don't expect acrobatics on horseback from me too soon."
"Poor Colonial. Should I have bought you a nice old cob?"
"Nah. I'd have outgrown him." His eyes crinkled a bit. "So, do Mushy and Whipper know how to ride? I could make them test ride your racehorses."
"Hired them, did you?"
"I refuse to play the Game. But those two dufuses of Ajha's do occasionally come in handy. They'll be coming in tomorrow, and staying here until they find places of their own. I assure you, I did invite them to stay with ulterior and fell purpose."
"Wizzy is going to hate them."
"With a passion, and I expect the converse as well. The emotional undercurrents should keep her distracted."
"Colonial, you have a very practical mean streak."
***
Subdirector of Intel Omsi did not appreciate Izzo adding two untrained troublemakers to his stable of elite Info Teams. "I can recognize Disposable Errand Runners when I see them. I will not contaminate, risk, a Team by adding them to it."
Izzo smiled. "Good. Just get them Gate passes and let them wander around and meet people." He could hear Omsi's teeth grind.
Subdirector Idzo of Embassy Affairs scowled. "And these business permits you've approved. Do you think it is wise to give out that much information about us? The Vid Theater alone . . . ."
"Indeed. I can't think why so few people have opened businesses. Think of how much information you'll be able to pick up in them. The restaurants and the theater will simply make the One World less exotic, less threatening."
"Less, less . . . " Down the table a few chairs, the Action and Exploration Subdirector sputtered.
One of my problem children.
"Changing philosophy is hell." Izzo tried to sound sympathetic.
Ebko gritted his teeth. "I want that man out of my section."
"No. I think we need to think in terms of expanding Exploration and reducing Action Teams. Even if we meet up with another hostile entity like Helios, we'd still be better served by their notifying us while keeping up observations."
"You, you."
"Yes. Infuriating though it is, we simply are not going to be as aggressive as we used to be. We are not going to be isolationist. So says the Spokesman of the One. So says a public referendum." Izzo watched the man while he got himself back under control. Bet the plague missed him. Too bad.
"Now, the Courts. How are the new judges working out? Is having the courtrooms across helping?"
The Subdirector of Vista snorted. "All the big law firms are here. And bitching like mad."
"I suppose without courts, there was little need for litigators across. Well, no doubt either the law firms will adapt, or the across lawyers will start showing up in court."
“Lawsuits have sprung up like mushrooms. More from the businesses across than the Natives, at least so far.” But Ikti settled back and didn’t harp on it.
Izzo eyed his subordinates. "Anything else to bring up? No? Very well. Oh. I understand the Gothic Horror is used as a Directorate hotel, don't let my residence change that, or if anyone is accustomed to using the salle or the pool, by all means, continue." He smiled faintly as they thought it over. How many Game Players do we have here, and will they try me on the salle? My reputation is composed of conflicting rumors.
Ebko's eyes lit, and he nodded.
Further down the table a few almost subliminal glances. Izfo did the talking. "Thanks. There's a group of us who try to keep up some civilized polish out here, with regular fencing." Undertones of glee sabotaged his attempt at casual and friendly. "Perhaps we'll come by tonight."
Izzo nodded. "Anytime."
Outside the conference room, his bodyguard leapt to his feet. Right arm in a splint from fingertips to armpit. Flushed a bit, as Izzo raised his eyebrows.
“They wanted me to stay a night at the hospital so they could be sure the leverage from the tight tendons didn’t pull anything out of place. And they claimed to be doing something with the nerves.” He squirmed. “They told me to come back after work.”
“Good. Now, frankly I haven’t a clue what to do with a bodyguard. I suspect you’re going to be bored a lot, so I really hope you like to read. But, come and check out the office.”
“I’m reading up on bodyguarding.”
Back in his office "Welcome" had once again been let out of the executive bat
hroom. The nocturnal creature came for a doggy bone and ran off behind the sickly potted tree to eat it.
The kid was standing with his mouth open.
“His name’s Welcome, and I’m delighted to see that the critter has actually decided to use only the corner of the lav, for the inevitable. I may come to not regret keeping him yet.” Izzo grinned at the kid’s expression and told him about his first meeting with his subdirectors.
And it hasn’t gotten much better.
Curse my wretched clan.
Idzo and the Subdirector of Castle Peak, Izfo, were both cousins of his. No love lost. Hell, he barely knew them. There were two other Alcairo subdirectors as well. More distant cousins, but still . . . He was going to have to figure out if that was talent or nepotism.
With three thousand clans you think there'd be few concentrations . . .
Former Director Agni had been from the Canary Islands. He'd dominated the directorate for decades.
Then Ujmw had taken control . . . and allowed himself to get tangled in an improvised abrogation of the treaty with Comet Fall . . .
Then Iffy had been appointed as temporary director, and proceeded to stuff as many of his relatives into positions as possible, assigned the president's daughter to a risky field internship . . . and apparently been less than gracious when Ajki was appointed as the permanent director.
Ajki was Black Point, and in six years here, he'd weathered the (oh so deserved!) bio attack from Comet Fall, handled the Helios disaster very well, improved relations with Disco and Comet Fall, and failed to make a dent in the Alcairo clique.
Maybe I should just assume it's the high quality Alcairo genetics . . . Ha!
He read and signed his way through the pile Kiel had left in the middle of his desk, checked his mail, and headed home.
Xiat eyed him as he quit halfway through the soup, barely tasted the heavy creamed noodle and beef entree, and nibbled slowly through the peach pie.
"I'm almost afraid to ask."
"Some of the fellows like to fence. I volunteered the salle here. It will be a very informal feeling up."
She snorted. "Didn't think they were your type."
"Just the usual dominance games."
Wiz had been following this with narrowed eyes. "They're going to try to beat you."
"Exactly."
"Some of them are really good." The girl actually looked alarmed. "You haven't been practicing."
"I know. I'll no doubt regret the month off, but I have been keeping up the stretching, so I shouldn't be too off."
They all showed up at eight, six of them with all their equipment. Izzo was already warming up and stretching when Ohno showed them in.
"Glad you could make it." Izzo tried to sound chipper, not predatory. "I need to get back into the habit of fencing at least once a week.
Ebko, Izbo and Wgli. Ajha and two fellows he'd only met a couple of times. Very tall, with long legs and arms. They'd definitely pegged his reach as his main weakness. They all tossed various gear bags down along the walls and started warming up.
Ajha was staying straight faced and a bit formal, but Izzo had come to know him well enough to see the flickers of amusement. He caught Izzo's eye. "So are we going to get barely whipped, or completely over-awed?"
Izzo snorted. "And how fired am I going to need to be to beat those long fellows?"
"Not very. Ebko's trying all the angles, but he has limited material to work with."
"How about you?"
"Oh, I just fence for the fun of it. This lot hasn't figured out yet that being a Philosopher doesn't change the fencing. It's like they think I can't fire up like I used to."
Izzo grinned. "I see. Well, how about a nice little third level match?"
"You've got it. Why don't we just do it to three touches, so you don't get too worn out before you get around to Ebko."
They'd fenced before, and knew each other well. Izzo was the better trained, Ajha had twenty-five centimeters further reach on his lunges. Limiting their speed—the amount of magical, metabolic acceleration that they were capable of—to third level made for a challenging match, with Izzo taking the bout by three to two.
"Warmed up, Cousin? I think we might have sparred once, when you were around for Law School. Let's see if you've improved." Izbo smiled, or at any rate showed a lot of teeth.
"Has it been that long?" Izzo faced him and raised his blade. Fired up just enough to out point him.
And then every single one of the rest of them.
There were a lot of edged smiles and uneasiness behind the surface acceptance of his cheerful thanks for the exercise.
Gives them something to think about, if nothing else.
Chapter Thirteen
1 May 3523 ce
Nowhereistan, Earth
Jack grabbed a truck and drove to Earth. With, of course, a full search of the empty truck, electronic verification of his obviously nefarious self, and a grudging wave to send him through to the aptly named “Nowhereistan.”
Dry baking desert with a hint of salt in the ubiquitous dust. He drove out of the Secured Gate Area through the cattle-chute of another inspection, brief, this time. Thirty miles of flat dry desert, the only scenery the “Native Education Camp” on the right, then the Military compound on the left. The town was schizoid, half catering to the companies that did business across—such as his own office here, which was minimal due to the cost of space and living conditions no sensible office worker would put up with—and half to civilian and military back for a brief break between assignments Across.
Jack skipped the office and drove to a warehouse dealing in bulk supplies.
A pallet of ammunition (after scrutiny and checking of permits) and two pallets of non-perishable foods loaded on the truck and he was reversing his path. A brief visual sweep of the truck, a check of the ammo permit, and he was waved through the chute.
On the Embassy side, the guards just nodded their recognition and sent him away. Probably hoping I’ll shoot someone on Granite Peak.
He stopped at Camp Granite’s HQ long enough to pick up Arrow, and headed for his private corridor.
“I really ought to take Higgins and a few other men along. Drive my armored gyp.”
Arrow snorted. “Giving off the appearance of a Boss-type? Jack, that magic potion is giving you a very odd jumpy aura that’s going to make it difficult for anyone to read you or influence you. That’ll get you more respect from those Oners than any amount of pomp.”
Jack swallowed. “I don’t feel any different.”
“You need to learn to meditate.”
He slowed, stopped beside his gyp long enough to grab the cooler he’d stashed in the back, then swung around to line up with the corridor.
“A picnic, Jack?”
He centered the truck between his marking stones and drove through the first corridor before answering. “Just in case whatever base the Oners’ are building is further away than I expect it to be.”
Arrow had offered to connect both corridors, but he’d decided a corridor a thousand miles out might be handy. So he drove out a bit, turned right to drive between two trees that framed a slightly out-of-place rectangle between them, then turned left and over the burn-scar hill, and into thick forest.
Twenty kilometers or so to the meeting place at the river . . . where he stopped, frowning at the gravel bars and winding channels cut through them.
Jack got out and took a good long look from the top of the bank. “Well, the road keeps going on the far side . . . but those channels are much too deep for us to cross.”
Arrow nodded. “They must have . . . planks . . . or something . . .”
“And they pick them up afterwards, so no uninvited guests can just drive up to see what they’re doing out here.”
Arrow grinned. “I’m not very good at this, but wait here.” She walked over to the brush at the side of the road, and made her usual “touch four corners to anchor a corridor” routine, then she slipped down th
e bank and wobbled across the loose rounded fist sized gravel to the first channel. She made a throwing motion, nodded in satisfaction and opened a person-sized bronze square.
Another corridor? Or the same one up here? That doesn’t achieve anything . . . Jack watched her step into the bronze and open it with a sweep of her arm. She stepped out and scrambled up out of the edge of the first channel.
Ah! She can throw the far side of a bubble, what? Five or six meters? Excellent!
He stood and watched as she wove up and down the ford, looking for channels narrow enough for her to throw across. She only once had to wade knee deep, and throw across to plunge in and scramble, soaked, up the far side. Then she scrambled up the river bank, and turned to look back.
Made a snapping sort of wave, and turned to the trees to make a pinning down motion.
Jack bit his lip. There was no way the truck could . . . His thoughts broke off as a grinning Arrow stepped out of the corridor beside him.
“Oh . . . you took the end of this corridor across with you.”
“Yep.” She looked more like a happy urchin than a soggy wet woman.
Jack pulled his gaze away from her wet clinging blouse. Mostly.
“That’s quite handy.” He turned back to the truck. Bet it pisses off the Oners!
Another twenty miles and they were pulling up to a rather crude construction site. Full of Oners dropping everything and grabbing weapons.
“Uh, you mentioned something about shields?”
Arrow snorted. “Already up.”
“Good.” Jack turned the truck and stopped. Hopped out of the truck and looked around. Lots of tree stumps and neat stacks of trimmed logs. Strings marked the outline a what would eventually be a good sized walled compound, roughly square. One corner had already acquired crudely pointed logs sticking up out of a ditch.
Jack nodded in approval. Pitched his voice so the approaching men would hear it, even as he tried to look like he was talking to Arrow. “Very nice. Their palisade’s going to look like one of those Wild West Forts the Purples build. Leaving a few trees up inside to make it less obvious to the sats is a nice touch.”