by Garon Whited
“There you are,” she said, as the door ground open. “I hope you’re hungry. Some lady with a weird hat asked if I wanted anything, so I ordered food.”
“Good plan. What do we have on the scrying table?”
“A suspiciously-straight road,” Mary replied, “with a lot of troops on it. One drawback to having wonderful roads is enemy troops can use them, too.”
“I’m learning as I go. What else?”
“I’ve been looking them over. They don’t have a lot of defense against scrying. I can’t get into their command tent, though, so they have at least some wizards helping.”
“And maybe a couple of hired magicians.”
“How many?”
“Let’s bet on three—one for each major city. They don’t work cheap, and they don’t like risking their potentially-lengthy lives.”
“Fair enough. The rest of the place is pretty open,” Mary continued. “My estimates are six thousand cavalry—if you want to divide things up more finely, it’s closer to a thousand knights and five thousand cavalry.”
“It could be important,” I agreed. “Knights are lifetime professionals with the best equipment.”
“Elite troops. Got it. The rest of the professional-looking troops are two thousand archers, three thousand crossbowmen, eight thousand infantry with spears, shields, and long knives. The rest of them are warm bodies getting on-the-job training with whatever weapons they have available. Maybe ten thousand of those.”
“Huh. How big are these cities? It sounds as though they sucked up all their forces and drafted the population.”
“Three cities, remember, with attendant towns and villages.”
“Yes, but that’s still a heavy drain on the manpower. That’s nearly thirty thousand men. Call it ten thousand men from each city. And we’re not counting logistics and supply people along for the ride, are we?”
“No. I didn’t include those. As for the soldiers, a lot of them are probably mercenaries. Those are just money, not population.”
“Good point. Still, it tells me they’re not kidding about this. They don’t just want to make a statement or fight an absentee landlord. This is an army for clobbering the crap out of someone.” I started to reach for the sand table and paused. “May I? Or were you in the middle of something?”
“Go right ahead.”
I scanned west, found the coast, marked the three big cities, zoomed in on one. Coastal city, nice harbor, decent fortifications. Fairly quiet, now. A closer examination and a bit of random sampling told me the place probably housed around forty or fifty thousand people, which implied they dumped a quarter of their population—half their able-bodied male population—into a war. Less, of course, any mercenaries. If half the professional-looking troops are hired, the manpower shortage might not be too bad…
A quick look at the other two yielded similar results.
“I know this is probably a dumb question, but did you look for a navy?” I asked. Mary nodded.
“I did. I went all up and down the southern coast. I didn’t see any groups of ships, just the occasional merchantman, bunches of fishing boats, and what was probably a pirate.”
“I wonder why they aren’t sailing to Carrillon?”
“Maybe they heard what happened to Mochara?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, there was a small a civil disturbance in Karvalen, or so I hear,” she said. “Something about the Queen and the King having a bit of a domestic dispute. The Queen sent a fleet, the King smashed it, and now the King and Queen seem to be all buddy-buddy again. The King has this reputation for destroying navies.”
“That’s possible,” I agreed, reluctantly. “Of course, they may not have enough ships to feel confident, so they threw everything into the overland assault. Dividing their forces might seem a bad idea.”
“Also a possibility. The army won’t be near the ocean, so they won’t be resupplied or reinforced from there.”
“We should keep an occasional eye on the water, though, in case they try coming up a river.”
“Noted. So, what’s the plan?”
“Plan?” I asked, surprised. “You think I have a plan?”
“Yes.”
We looked at each other for several seconds in silence.
“Okay,” I finally admitted, “if I have to do this, I might as well go big or go home.” Mary smirked at my comment. “I might have the beginnings of a plan.”
“I knew I could count on you.”
“Zoom in on the northernmost city. Let me see the palace.”
I spent the rest of the day scanning what I could of the palaces of Hyceteyn, Actareyn, and Lyraneyn. They didn’t have much in the way of scrying defenses, just privacy blocks around private quarters and the like. I guess that’ll teach them to underestimate the resources of the kingdom they’re nominally vassals of.
I also spent some time drawing an illusion-model of a horse trailer. I know I’ve had this idea before, but, darn it, people don’t always implement them too well. Possibly because I don’t always explain it. Or even mention it.
The wagon included a roofed-over seat for the driver, an internal compartment forward for the knight, and space to either side of the horse for hanging armor, tack, and other bits of gear. The knight’s area was somewhat small for a jumbo-sized man, but it was mostly padded seating and a place for a hammock. It beat walking. I figured a pair of regular horses could haul the thing and get the fighting gear there in shape to actually fight.
Given sufficient horsepower, could we implement horse-drawn troop carriers? Rather than marching to battle, could we get some highly-mobile, elite infantry to the trouble spot to reinforce local troops until the main force arrived? I’ll have to send a note to Lissette.
With that done, Mary and I waterfalled and discussed the problem of the local gods.
“So, you’re basically immune to divine wrath?” she asked.
“No, I have diplomatic immunity in this world,” I corrected. “Anytime a simulata—one of the local pseudo-deities—feels like smiting me, I’m smote. They won’t do it, I gather, because then everyone else on the Olympian plane will then be allowed to do whatever they want to the followers of said smiter. I think these pipsqueak gods can get killed if such a thing goes on long enough, but I’m not sure.”
“Not too clear on the Olympian ecology, I gather?”
“Not at all. I think—this is only a feeling, but a strong one—I think they view this plane of existence as a sort of food-dispensing garden. If they tend their plants, their followers, they produce psychic energy these energy-state beings feed on. I don’t think they really care about ruling and dominion and being in charge of anything. I think they’re more concerned with getting enough to eat.”
“If one of them owns the place, he gets all the cookies while everyone else goes hungry.”
“Exactly.”
“Is that why you’re trying to get the gods integrated into the kingdom?”
“No, I just want them to stop… hmm.” I thought about it for a moment. If they were all assured of a steady supply of psychic energy—food—would they be less of a pain in the gluteus maximus? If food really was their primary motivation, maybe. But, of course, anything with enough brains to hold an intelligent conversation is too complicated to be easily categorized. Not that I think much of their ability to reason—with one, possibly two, notable exceptions—but they do think.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Maybe that’s what I really want. If they calm down on the me-first attitude and learn to be symbiotes instead of parasites, they can save a lot of energy by not arguing with each other. I don’t know what they do for fun, though. I only know a few of them well enough to risk asking and I don’t like talking to any of them.”
“Fair enough. But, since you’re a sort-of avatar, you have diplomatic immunity?”
“As I understand it, yes. I’m a physical entity representing an energy-state being, at least. They can’t, o
r won’t, act directly on me. Their material assets—followers, priests, hired help—can still smack me with whatever they find to hand, though.”
“But I’m still going to get turned into smoking ashes if a priest of this light-god waves a holy symbol at me?”
“That’s my understanding. Which is why I want to know something extremely important.”
“Name it. And scrub my back.” She turned around and I did so.
“Can you use a bow?”
“I suppose so. I mean, I took archery as a class for physical education credits. I was pretty good, actually. With my current eyes and muscles, I could probably do a darn fine job of shooting a target. But if you’re asking about my combat proficiency as a professional archer, I’m going to have to disappoint you.”
“Target shooting, not sniping?”
“Exactly.”
“All right, what long-ranged weapons do you feel comfortable with?”
“None of them. Not really. I’m pretty accurate with a rifle, but I’m not really a sniper. Hell, I’m not much of a soldier. I’m a thief.”
“Do you have any problems blowing heads off if I can make it easy?”
“Silly question.”
“So it is. All right. I’ll see what options we have.”
I typed in a request to Diogenes, fired up the micro-gate, and sent it. The answer came back instantly, before I could even close the gate. I closed it and read his reply with considerable delight.
Next, it was off to the upstairs gate room to make some modifications to the hallway outside and the room itself. If I was going to use the gate for troop movements, it needed more power. And for that, it needed sockets for power crystals.
Hmm. My intention was to draw lines on the floor and walls, then have the mountain turn the lines into silver-filled grooves, with little cups for people to place power crystals in. That way, the mountain could separate itself from the metal and the metal could be suitably enchanted.
What did I do with those orichalcum samples I swiped from the Atlantean pyramid?
After several hours of being annoyed by the paradox of trying to analyze something with magic when it’s a superconductor of magic, I finally bit the bullet and admitted I was stumped. If I had more metal, I might be able to vaporize bits of it and do a spectrographic analysis, but it would take days, maybe weeks to put together a laboratory for it, to say nothing of the spell research I would have to do.
Fortunately, I knew someone who could help me out. The only question was whether or not we had the time.
I texted Diogenes again and he assured me he could conduct a thorough metallurgical analysis on a very small sample. I would have sent my sample through the small gate-box—should I call it a shift box? Or a switch box? It doesn’t actually open a gate—but I was worried about the effect the metal might have on the spell.
The interior of the box is directly affected by the magic on the box. Orichalcum doesn’t respond well to magical effects. Magic just goes right through it. On the other hand, an actual gate doesn’t seem to have as much of a direct effect on things going through it. The gate affects the space through which objects travel. I think. I didn’t have any untoward incidents with the orichalcum when going through a gateway. As far as the gate spell went, it should have been no worse than carrying a coil of wire. If it’s not connected to grounding point, it doesn’t matter if it’s a conductor.
Then again, could orichalcum have other properties under different circumstances? It’s not like I’ve had a chance to experiment with it. Maybe.
But, back to my point. A gate, at least, will allow the transport of orichalcum, but it might do nasty things to a shift-box.
Yeah, I like shift-box better than gate box.
When the sun comes up, Mary and I will pop over to Diogenes’ world for a bit and pop right back. Hopefully, the time differential isn’t too bad. We’re estimating four days until the Coastal Alliance Task Force reaches Peleseyn, and I want to pick a fight before then.
Karvalen. It’s Around June 11-ish
This multi-world calendar thing is going to drive me up the wall. It’s summer, and it’s nearly ninety days since I left. So it’s June 11th or thereabouts. I may have to shift to the local calendar just to keep things straight.
But then what do I do in other worlds? Do I keep switching back and forth? I’ll lose all track of when I am. Maybe I should number my diary entries instead of putting a date on them. At least it would be easy to keep them in chronological order. Or maybe I should just keep track of days according to the days as they pass for me. But then I run into the multi-world-weirdness again. “May 9th, Tuesday, bought a Christmas present after fighting my way through the record-breaking snows…” No, that sounds stupid and downright confusing.
Maybe I’ll just stick with whatever the local date is. Approximately.
In the meantime, it’s June-ish in Karvalen. And now, Mary and I are popping through a gate to Diogenes’ world. Whee. But we’re leaving a smaller ring-gate open to act as a placeholder so we don’t accidentally spend a Karvalen year there while we run an errand.
We stepped into the library together and immediately downsized the main gate. It was daytime at both ends, so we didn’t undergo any rapid transformations.
“Good morning, Professor,” came from a robot next to a table. A variety of equipment was spread out on several tables around the library.
“Good morning, Diogenes.”
“Good morning, Miss Mary.”
“Good morning.”
“What have you got for us, Diogenes?”
The robot was a tracked unit with a vertical cylinder in the middle and several folding arms. It whirred around behind a table and indicated items as it listed them. The first item was actually a pair of identical items, about the size and shape of a deck of cards.
“For emergencies, reinforced body bags with layers of metallized, biaxially-oriented polyethylene terephthalate and light-proof zip-lock closures. The materials have been tested in the laboratory up to light intensities exceeding forty times the surface sunlight on this planet, but field testing is impossible without a vampire.”
“Understood. We’ll see how they hold up,” I replied. I pocketed one, Mary took the other. Diogenes continued.
“This is an Infantry Support Laser, Mark Nine Infrared. The backpack holds the power pack while the cylindrical portion holds the primary lasing array. It has an effective range of eight thousand meters against unarmored targets.” The device was a sizable backpack unit connecting via a pair of heavy cables to what resembled a bazooka. A boxy attachment on the side of the bazooka portion was obviously the sighting mechanism.
“Cautionary note,” Diogenes continued. “This laser has been tested and is functional, but it is repaired and refurbished equipment. I cannot guarantee the service life will meet your needs.”
“Understood. Any idea on how long it will last?”
“I calculate it has an eighty-seven percent chance, plus or minus four percent, of functioning normally through one entire power pack.”
“Good to know. What else?”
“Next, these are the ruthenium experiments. As you can see, each one has a variation on the basic ruthenium electromagnet. On the theory they produce magical energy, they are all presently energized in order to provide ideal charging conditions for the gateway. They can be evaluated at your convenience.
“These are high-definition digital cameras. They are available at your discretion for sensitizing to magical energy.”
“I should have thought to enchant some for you while I was messing around with nexuses,” I noted. “Sorry it slipped my mind.”
“Take your time, Professor.”
“By the way, speaking of cameras…”
“Yes, Professor?”
“How do you see me at night? Do I show up on your scanners?”
“You are only partially detectable,” Diogenes told me. “Standard imaging devices do not register your presence,
however some anomalous artifacts do appear in the signal when you move. It is possible to extrapolate your location. Other sorts of sensors suffer different levels of degraded usefulness, but all of them have at least some telltales. By combining inputs of various sorts, I can track your location. Usually by stereophonic means.”
“You can hear where I am?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Good to know. I’ll be cautious about automatic doors, then.”
“Sonar-based detection seems to work perfectly, Professor,” Diogenes cautioned. “It appears to be purely an electromagnetic phenomenon.”
“Even more important to know. Thank you.”
While we spoke, Mary examined the laser without actually touching it.
“How does this work?”
She and Diogenes discussed the Army manual on the usage and maintenance of laser weaponry. I stepped out and met the robot coming to claim the samples of orichalcum.
“Do you wish me to replicate the material once it has been analyzed, Professor?”
“Yes, please. I want to test them more extensively. I haven’t had much chance to work with the stuff.”
“Quality control samples will be produced,” Diogenes assured me. “Do you require anything else for your upcoming war?”
“I don’t suppose you have a battalion of robot-driven tanks?”
“They have not been high on my list of salvage, recovery, and repair, Professor,” Diogenes replied, primly. “My primary concern has been establishing an industrial base and infrastructure with the available materials in order to begin manufacturing materials and components not ordinarily found in salvage.”
“Just as well, I suppose. I don’t really want to kill everyone, just send them home. Thanks for the help, Diogenes.”
“Always a pleasure, Professor.”
I went back into the library. Mary was wearing the backpack and had the bazooka-like portion hanging at her hip. It was longer than I thought, maybe two meters long—longer than Mary was tall, certainly.
“It’s heavy,” she observed.
“Seventy-six kilograms,” Diogenes replied. “It is normally a crew-served weapon, utilized by two men. However, given the known physical enhancements of your breed of vampire, I believed it to be within the limits of your combat load capacity, even during the day. Am I incorrect?”