On the Run (Wine of the Gods Book 28)

by Pam Uphoff

  The skimmer cruised smoothly a few feet above the tops of the tall grasses. Silent. Even the cool air blew with no sound of fans.

  Mirk switched his glance from the horizon to the near vegetation. He tried to judge how fast they were traveling . . . finally gave up and just settled back. Closed his eyes . . . jerked awake . . . still grasslands with scattered trees.

  Movement. Ungainly animals he'd never seen in the flesh. Elephants. And to think I'd wondered if they weren't a joke by the Old Gods.

  Frost was curled up in her seat, looking out the far side of the skimmer. Tears on the cheek silhouetted against the bright landscape.

  He craned his neck. Both girls were asleep.

  Just hours ago we were fleeing for our lives. Fleeing an attack . . . fleeing from arrest, trial, execution or imprisonment again. He rubbed his temples. I am tired of being a criminal. A traitor. Old Gods know Rebo deserved to . . . no. Not to die. I was stupid.

  Why didn't I just divorce the bitch?

  Six months after the assassin I hired killed him, when Staven told me they'd summoned the Council President to remove Rebo from the succession the day before he was killed, I laughed. Then I went away and cried in private for my stupidity.

  He peered forward. Sharp lines. Wherever we're going, we're nearly there.

  "We're not going to be criminals." He made his voice firm.

  Frost lifted her head and peered ahead. "Yes." Her voice was soft. "For once in my life, perhaps I can be . . . just a normal person. Honest."

  The girls stirred and sat up, as the hover car swung around a grove of trees and onto a paved street.

  No buildings, no people. Just a paved road. Winding into . . . landscaping?

  Around a corner and finally, buildings. They looked more like businesses than homes . . . glass-paned windows

  Blank and empty.

  The taller vegetation fell back as the road turned into a broad boulevard. Taller buildings ahead, and the sparkle of light on water in the breaks between.

  The voice that had spoken from the skimmer's speakers spoke again. "Welcome to Mombasa. Would you like to stay at the Mombasa Inn or the Mombasa Family Suites?"

  They looked around the empty streets.

  "Who are you? Where are you?"

  "I am the Mombasa Nexus of the World Net. I am a distributed computer assemblage, present in all buildings in Mombasa. And also all over the world."

  Halberd leaned forward and addressed the speaker. "How many people live here in Mombasa?"

  "With the addition of you four to the population roll . . . four."

  Chapter Two

  Fall 1399 px/5-10-3516

  Mombasa, Utopia

  Mirk ground his teeth and tried to summon patience.

  "Gritting your teeth causes undue tooth wear and may be an early indicator of Mandibular dysfunction."

  Mirk took a deep breath and tried again. "Where are all the people?"

  "Abercrombe, Terrance. 11234 B Prairieview Drive, Malibu. Abrams, Abigail. 6529 Brookside Terrace, Paris. Addams . . . "

  "Stop." I hate computers. "Please display a world map with population centers highlighted."

  The illusionary globe suddenly rotating in front of him had, as usual, a rough approximation of the continents he was used to. And damn few population centers.

  He heaved a relieved breath. For just a second, I thought Mombasa might be the sole "population center."

  Close enough, there are damn few cities. All far away.

  "So, not only is there no one else in Mombasa, there's no one else on the whole continent?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "The prevalence of tropical diseases was deemed sufficiently high to disrecommend continued habitation. The control of insect vectors was difficult, even in the small enclaves that would minimize impact on the environment. Therefor the Mombasa center was closed."

  This sounds like Earth at the height of its environmental craze. Several Earths. Mirk had read a lot of histories, from a lot of almost parallel Earths. "What is the population of the World? Show me a graph with demographics."

  Four million people. A large city on any of the advanced Worlds. Other advanced Worlds. The age spread was flat, dipping only after eighty, and disappearing altogether at one hundred and ten.

  Typical of non-magical populations.

  "Display a historical graph of the population for the last 2000 years."

  The first six hundred were zero. Leaping suddenly to a quarter million.

  "So this is an Exile World."

  "I am unfamiliar with the term. Utopia is the fourth colony of Earth Prime, settled in the year 2116 ce."

  The population had apparently peaked a thousand years ago, at about twenty million, and been in decline ever since.

  "Are there imposed restrictions on reproduction? Who has the babies?"

  "Every individual is a valuable contributor to the next generation."

  Frost walk in, toweling her hair dry but otherwise undressed. "That sounds like a hell of an orgy." She frowned at the globe and the graph.

  "Orgies are restricted to virtual venues. Physical sexual contact is highly disrecommended."

  "Explain common reproductive procedures." Mirk bit his lip and kept Frost in the corner of his eye. This could be good.

  "A registered couple must complete child care classes before registering to become parents. When registration is approved, a phenotypical zygote is brought to term, and if normal and healthy, is delivered to their care."

  "Fee no what?" Frost sounded like she was getting angry.

  "Phenotypical. A suite of physical attributes commonly found in a given sub-population."

  "So, someone wants a baby and someone just walks up and hands them a baby that looks about right for them?" She sounded appalled.

  "Yes."

  Mirk rubbed his face, trying to remember. Did Frost have two children? Three? No, she was in prison with me. I think she just had the one baby . . . Old Gods knows where all of the gangs' babies are now. No doubt they're in dimensional bubbles somewhere. With someone else.

  Like my children. That bitch is probably turning my daughters into mirror images of herself. Gods only know what she's doing to the boy. Boys. Staven told me she had another boy, and I'd made damn sure that one was mine . . . I'll never see him.

  He shrugged away the mountain of regrets. "If I understand the genetics correctly, Halberd and Napalm should be able to open gates when they're older. We're not trapped here forever."

  Unless we like it here and decide to stay.

  Thanks to a room with a large time differential in it, the girls were multiples of their calendar ages. Due to good genetics and a constant near-random application of magical changes, Frost looked half her thirty-four years of age.

  Mirk bit his lip. I probably look younger too, the effect of several magic potions. But who knows what that implies as to life expectancy.

  "Computer, explain the financial system here. What money is used, and how is it earned?"

  "We have kept the Classical Dollar System. Every citizen receives a minimum stipend, to which are added their hourly earnings."

  Mirk frowned. "How does one become a citizen?"

  "Everyone is a citizen."

  "What about us four?"

  "I regret to say that a computer error seems to have erased all records of your existence. You will need to submit form 2234 to the nearest Node, to reregister."

  "I thought you were a node?"

  "I am."

  Mirk closed his eyes. "So, please give us form 2234 so we can reregister."

  A form and keyboard appeared in midair. Virtual forms, along with virtual sex, apparently. Mirk sat down and proceeded to fill in all the blanks, inventing the vast majority of the data. The Node computer seemed perfectly happy with the nonsense, credited him with a week's stipend and then took half of it away as a fine for his trespass on the nature reserve.

  The witches filled in their forms, and started n
attering with the computer about shopping and travel.

  Mirk walked out to the balcony and stared down the coastline. It was spectacularly beautiful, but they were going to need to live where there were other people, if they were going to take over and run this place.

  Research first, move base second. Or even third. It is beautiful, a good place to stay for now.

  ***

  Halberd dropped out of the conversation with the computer and wandered off to explore. The building was huge, by her standards. Bigger than the mansion, in any case, and with four instead of forty adults, and no children it seemed even bigger. She liked the long clean straight lines. Mombasa Regional government offices. Next door to the Mombasa Inn.

  "I need to know how things work here. I need to go to school." She listened for echoes, but all the sound was absorbed. A light blinked in a corner, and she investigated.

  "Welcome to the Mombasa Virtual School, Halberd Arrowdaut. Due to your lost records, I need to test you for class placement."

  She quickly lost herself in a whirl of questions, all set up like a game, with points and class standing, and canned crowd noises. It was quite funny. Fun too, and she was really reaching with her last few math equations.

  "Congratulations, Halberd! In order to continue to challenge your math and science abilities, I am enrolling you in the University of Mombasa. I'm afraid though, that you will have to take remedial classes in history and social studies. When do you wish to start?"

  "How about an introductory history class, now?" She wrinkled her nose. There were so many conflicting histories. Most worlds were lucky to have only three or four conflicting versions.

  I read some in the Fast House, but only when I was really bored and there was nothing else to read.

  "Certainly. Let's start with the basics, the formation of the Universe. In the beginning, everything was dark matter, and dark matter was all. We have no evidence for a triggering event, but assume there was one, as the effects were so strong and immediate. With the formation of the Universe, everything came into being. Not just the physical particles, but the physical laws themselves. But not simply a single universe with a single set of laws, but rather a multitude of universes, with all possible laws. As the various universes cooled, the range of possibilities opened up more possibilities. But not new Universes, rather what we call membranes, or branes. Within each Universe, as defined by the physical laws, there are infinite possibilities, but the branes are all one and all interact, and so are drawn together even as they split apart, conserving mass and energy within each Universe.

  "Introductory History will cover what is known about the formation of two branes. The one from which our ancestors came, one thousand four hundred and twenty three years ago, and this new home of ours."

  It was utterly fascinating.

  At some point she realized that Napalm had joined her and was whining about her classes, and wanting to be with other kids. Her mom had kept her out of the Fast House as much as she dared, so Napalm was only nine years old. The Node computer brought up what it called holograms—illusions of other kids—and a teacher, who welcomed her to the class and introduced her to the other students. It was weird, but Napalm was happier.

  Halberd was much more adult, easily thirteen years old. But when she started her science classes, Halberd gained a teacher as well, a hologram named Dr. Beecher, and occasionally some other students—Rick who was Dr. Beecher's assistant, and Marco, Colleen and Lori who were supposed to be advanced students taking the class with her. It was quite fun pretending they were real people that she could share her thoughts and speculations with, but she always felt let down when the lesson ended and they disappeared.

  Napalm felt much the same, finally whining at dinner. "Annie invited me to come over and play with her. When can we go there?"

  Frost frowned. "Where does Annie live?"

  "In Saint Louis. It's the Capital of the World. I learned that in school." She looked smug.

  Halberd added. "North America. A bit east of dead center."

  Mirk frowned. "Computer? Are the holograms of real people? Are they two-way?"

  Halberd choked on vat-grown hippopotamus steak.

  "Yes, they are all real people. The holographic transmissions are sent to all student locations."

  "Where is Dr. Beecher located? And the other students I interact with?" Halberd held her breath.

  "Dr. Beecher teaches at the University of North America in St. Louis. Rick and Colleen attend in person, Marco remotely from San Francisco and Lori remotely from Samarkand."

  Mirk looked thoughtful. "And St. Louis is the Capital of the World. Obviously I should have gone to school with you two, instead of playing twenty questions with the machine every damn day. Computer, we need to move to St. Louis. What is involved?"

  "Setting a date, reserving a long distance skimmer, packing, and embarking."

  "We will need money, a place to live, work to do." Mirk tapped a fingernail on the table.

  "There are thirty-eight domiciles adequate to the size of this extended family available in the St. Louis area."

  "Display map of St. Louis, highlighting the School Napalm has been attending remotely, and the University, and these thirty-eight domiciles."

  Napalm's school was near the University, and both were not far from the government buildings. They examined four hologrammed homes and picked one. The rent was easily within the reach of their four minimum stipends, but when their accounts were shown, they all gawped at one of them.

  "Where did you get all that money?"

  Halberd blinked at her balance—which was triple Frost or Mirk's.

  "Good students receive bonus credits. Halberd is an excellent student in a difficult and valuable learning track."

  Halberd had a brief twinge of homesickness. "Nanny Mason and Miss Herriette were really good teachers."

  Mirk sighed. "How do we find out what jobs we are qualified for?"

  "Employment qualification testing is available."

  "After dinner, I think Frost and I should be tested."

  A week later they moved to St. Louis.

  Chapter Three

  Fall 1399 px/27-10-3516

  St. Louis, Utopia

  Two students, a financial analyst with a job promised in the government, and a hobby gardener. Frost was a bit miffed by the lack of career opportunities for a witch, but the computer was quite clear on the non-existence of witch as a job title or description.

  Halberd felt very odd, the first time she walked into Dr. Beecher's lecture hall. Rick and Colleen mobbed her, and even Dr. Beecher unbent enough to beam at her before calling the class to order.

  "You are so lucky!" Lori's hologram settled down in her usual seat.

  Marco nodded, and then sat up and watched Dr. Beecher, as he brought up his first holo.

  Real people. Real friends. Even the ones she hadn't touched yet.

  ***

  Napalm frowned at the . . . interesting mechanism. "A by sickle? What does it do? I mean obviously it will tip over by itself . . . Do those wires on the wheels cut the crops?"

  "It's all one word. Bicycle." Annie smirked and straightened the contraption, kicked to fold up the brace that kept it from falling over. Then she hopped up on the seat and just cruised off down the walkway. No sign of tipping over.

  No waiting for the tram. No seat belts. Stupid helmet, but . . .

  Annie turned in a wide circle and peddled back past her the other direction.

  Napalm galloped after her, sprinting to catch up. "So, how do I get one of these?"

  "At the store. C'mon!"

  ***

  ". . . and this will be your office."

  Mirk gave Felix Pierce a firm handshake, and watched him walk away. My immediate supervisor. I'm the low man on a brand new ladder of advancement.

  He looked around the tidy little office, a quarter the size of his office in Karista. He could feel his muscles relaxing, all the worry and anger fading away. He tapped
to bring up the computer display.

  "Welcome to the Office of World Economics, Mirk Negue. May I take you on a virtual tour to start your first day familiarization?"

  "Please do."

  This feels fantastic. I didn't realize I missed being part of the government.

  One of the forces for order, rather than the agents of chaos the gang was.

  I missed having a job.

  ***

  "So . . . if gardens are just occasional hobbies . . . where does the food come from? What, exactly do you mean by vat meat?" Frost let the dry sandy soil trickle through her fingers and turned away from the sight of the weedy backyard of her new home. Going to take some work to get it going well.

  "Vat meat is derived from genetically engineered yeast. The yeast grows in a vat, hence the name."

  "Is it genetically engineered to . . . be muscle cells?"

  "Not entire cells. But the proteins and fiber of muscles are accumulated in the yeast cells until they mass ten times the usual mass of a yeast cell. Then they are harvested, drained and pressed into the desired form."

  "That's . . . amazing." And explains the soft, gooey texture. "What about vegetables? Fruit? I saw the wild animals and plants in Africa . . . have you maintained domestic animals at all?"

  "Unfortunately, the first colonists allowed some domesticated varieties to stray, and breed in the wild. As the citizens voted against eradication of the invasive species, feral cattle, horses, sheep, and goats have established themselves in North America, Europe and Asia."

  "No doubt interbreeding with the wild relatives . . . have you kept pure domestic strains? What about grains, vegetables, fruit trees?"

  "They are no longer necessary. The plants have also escaped cultivation and gone feral."

  "I see." Frost frowned around the rather barren house. "Now let's talk about furniture and decoration, before I get a shovel and start hunting for fruit tree seedlings for the yard."

  "Growing your own food is not necessary, Frost Witch."