On the Run (Wine of the Gods Book 28)

by Pam Uphoff

  "I have deduced that you four have immigrated from a parallel Earth. Please explain this tech."

  "I know nothing of the field, I just use it. I have heard them called medical repair molecules. They use alcohol and sulfur for power to produce the specific . . . molecules. All I really know is that it works on a very wide spread of injuries and illnesses." Heh. Not bad flimflam for a man thirty years after his last biology or chemistry class.

  He looked over at Halberd. "I came straight home because the hospital was overwhelmed . . . Nexus, for the duration of this emergency may we manufacture these medical repair molecules? After the crisis is over we can work with scientists and study the . . . MRMs and then either restrict or ban them on a scientific basis?" He got up and walked over to the kitchen fabber.

  Halberd was relaxing a bit . . . then her eye widened. "Your back! Take that shirt off. You're all bloody and you've got glass and metal bits stuck in it!"

  "I know. In fact, Nexus, I would like to give you a demonstration of the MRMs." He eased his arms out of the sleeves and let Halberd pull it off his back. Hopefully the half dried blood would help pull the splinters out of his back . . . He suppressed a scream.

  "Sorry!"

  "Halberd Arrowdaut, you are not authorized to perform medical treatment . . . but perhaps in this emergency . . . "

  The pain dulled suddenly.

  "Let me get the rest out, real quick." Halberd acted like she hadn't heard Nexus.

  That's a proper witch!

  He could feel the pull, but not much more pain.

  "That is an interesting technique. I do not understand how that was accomplished."

  Halberd handed over a hip flask. "Don't drink it all. We need the starter batch."

  "Mirk Negue, this untested substance, which Halberd Arrowdaut has already distributed without permission, should not . . . "

  Mirk took a sip. Recorked the flash. Rode out the first gasping flush, and breathed deeply.

  ". . . be cavalierly . . . Your multiple small puncture injuries are healing with unusual rapidity."

  Ha! That's magic, not that I'm going to say so. Flimflam and fast talk are going to come in handy these next few days. Pity I'm more bureaucrat than politician or diplomat.

  "These MRMs of yours definitely need to be studied."

  Mirk flexed his right arm. Still sore, but he could see the bruise retreating.

  "Right. So, we need two one liter bottles of ethyl alcohol with, umm, a gram of sulfur in each ought to make them taste and smell horrible, and reduce any possibility of anyone mistaking them for beverages."

  Mirk looked at the bowls and bottles on the table. "Halberd, it looks like you're in charge of experimentation."

  The young witch gave him a wicked grin. "As soon as I have . . . fuel for the MRMs, I will continue carefully mixing in complex biological molecules to supply the necessary elements for the actual construction of the medical repair molecules."

  Quick study! But then none of the older witches were stupid, just . . . wild and ill disciplined.

  The kitchen fabber dinged. "I'm going to take a shower."

  When he got back to the kitchen, Halberd was bottling her brews. And being lectured by the Nexus for taste testing the results. She was flushed and not looking at him.

  Mirk, still feeling the aprodisiastic effects of the wine himself, tromped hard on a too bad she's so young thought and decided it was time to take a look at the damage the cyborgs had done.

  And swing by the hospital and see what the Nexus thinks about what they've done to Felix.

  He casually scooped up Halberd's little flask as he turned and walked out.

  At the hospital, the walking wounded had been treated and sent away to other cities as long distance skimmers arrived to help.

  The badly injured . . . Mirk walked through the wards, eyeing people with broken bones, burns, injuries from flying debris. Some with all.

  Some dying, despite all the tech being brought to bear.

  He stepped out into a quiet hallway. "Nexus? May I use MRMs on these patients?"

  "I am . . . beyond my range of experience with this many critical injuries. I do not have enough surgeons, enough burn specialists, enough . . . anything . . . all the way down to nurses. I am . . . having to compromise safety."

  Right. No more passive good manners. Time to give orders. "The MRMs are needed in this situation. Where is the nearest fab? Have it start making the mixture of juices and alcohol that Halberd deems most useful."

  "But . . . "

  "Now."

  A long silence.

  "The nearest fab is through the third door on the left."

  Once the doctors could see the improvement in their patients, they stopped arguing with him.

  He tried to stay out of their way . . . and found himself at Felix's bedside. "What have they done to you, boss?"

  A snort behind him, one of the doctors, this one female, gray haired and tired.

  "They put a whole web of wires through his brain, all running into that plate on his scalp, which is anchored to his skull. The eye piece is slightly more superficial. It replaced the front hemisphere of the eye, but left the retina intact. I've gotten a look at those soldiers. I suppose they amputated his arm intending to replace it with a prosthesis. I can't imagine why!"

  "It's very strong and has . . . instruments attached. Weapons, most likely." Mirk looked down on the unconscious man. What has that done to you? Can we use you to better understand them . . . or are you one of them, now?

  He stepped out of the way and let an aide drip Joy Juice into Mirk's mouth.

  Heal, friend. And I hope to Hell I don't have to kill you later.

  He stretched painfully, walked up another flight of stairs to the top floor and hunted down a south facing window.

  The fire in the cyborg's camp had died down now, just a few thin columns of smoke, and acres of blackened ground.

  Lots of vehicles in motion.

  "The ecological damage is locally severe. Please do not start any more fires, Mirk Negue."

  "Nexus? Have you noticed that all those vehicles are heading this way? I don't think we can keep them out of the city."

  "They are already here. Their advanced team is in the Government Building. They demanded the surrender of the city."

  Mirk turned his back on the window and frowned at thin air. "I trust you surrendered immediately?"

  "Your reaction surprises me. I had thought that you would want to fight."

  "How? By throwing rocks at them? In fact, I'm not sure you people have got rocks. You, we, have no weapons, no training for this sort of situation."

  "I am . . . procrastinating. Researching the history archives. I dare not give these brutes control over my people. "

  "We need time to make or steal weapons, and train people to use them. And we'll only get that by peacefully surrendering to minimize the likelihood of the cyborgs killing large numbers of people." Like all the males. Or a few children, as threats to keep the rest of the parents in line.

  "But if I surrender my authority I will have to follow their orders."

  Mirk paused. Old Gods! What sort of naïve idiot programmed this computer?

  "So . . . you cannot lie? Cannot pretend to obey while hiding an insurgency?"

  "Not if I surrender."

  Crap. So how does a politician fast talk his way around this? "Who are they giving their demands to surrender to?"

  "I am answering them, and trying to get the government workers away from the building."

  "Yes, but who are they asking, or demanding to speak to? Do they accept you as the authority, or do they seem to think there's a person pulling your strings?"

  "I do not have strings, but I accept your analogy. They are demanding to speak to our leader face-to-face."

  "Right. If you do not surrender. If a person claiming to have governmental authority surrenders . . . in bad faith . . . intending to revolt and throw out the cyborgs, can you continue to act in the loca
ls' interests? Help the insurrection?"

  A long silence. "Yes. I can do that, so long as the person surrendering does have authority and really is surrendering as a tactic in an ongoing . . . war."

  "All right. We're getting somewhere. Who has the authority, and where is he. We need to talk to him."

  "The Mayor has the authority to pretend to surrender."

  "Good. Where is he?" I don't remember ever hearing his name . . .

  "We don't have a mayor. We haven't needed one for a thousand years."

  "Oh. Oh Hell. Please don't tell me you need an election?"

  "In an emergency, I can appoint an acting mayor."

  "Good. We need a volunteer because there's a good chance they'll kill him. How do we find people who are up to the . . ."

  "There is no time to canvas potential mayors. Mirk Negue, I appoint you Mayor of St. Louis until such a time as we can arrange an election."

  Mirk shut his mouth. Swallowed. "Right. Tell the cyborgs that Mayor Negue is on his way to surrender." He turned for the staircase and trotted down it.

  "And remember. I very definitely am using a fake surrender to gain time to plan and prepare to throw these guys out. I am not really surrendering."

  Chapter Nine

  Winter 1400 px/15-2-3517

  St. Louis, Utopia

  "So I need to figure out where to hide these bottles." Halberd looked from her table full of joy juice to Napalm. "You have lots of friends. I figured maybe we could hide a bottle in each of their homes."

  Napalm smirked. "I have a better idea. We have a secret. I'll show it too you, but you have to swear to never tell an adult. Swear properly."

  Halberd glared at the obnoxious little brat. The silence stretched. Napalm crossed her arms and waited.

  "All right. I swear by the Old Gods and by my power as a witch to never tell an adult."

  Napalm nodded in satisfaction. "C'mon. I'll show you. Let's carry all the joy juice we can."

  Three blocks away, an ordinary door at the back of a strip of shops opened to stairs leading down . . . and down . . . to a tunnel full of pipes and wires. Halberd ducked her head, unable to stand erect. The tunnel was lit only by the light she crouched under. Either direction it faded into darkness.

  Napalm could stand. She set down her bag of bottles and extracted one. "I'll put this one down here, on the pipes with the food and tools."

  "Food?"

  "We've been stashing food all day."

  "All your friends?"

  "Yep." Napalm stepped into the gloom.

  "Watch out! It looks like there's junk down that way."

  "It's not junk Halberd. It's bikes. Kinda small, but they're perfect for down here. We ride all over. C'mon. I'll give you the tour, and we can hide the goodies all over the city." Napalm clicked on the light on the front of her bike.

  ***

  Frost looked at the wall and nodded approval. The pastel panels covered the doors. Not new panels, but old ones, moved from elsewhere. They were stained and marked, one of them had a white board and the little table held ink pens for writing on it.

  Right now it read: For the duration of the emergency, keep all power, water and sewage on automatic whenever possible. Be prepared to evacuate.

  "Right. Now, Jesse Sanders, we need to go. No one who doesn't belong here, should be here, when the cyborgs arrive." She looked around. "Is there a stairway, a way out of the building that is less obvious than the way we came in? Hopefully a door on the side of the building away from the plaza?"

  "If they arrive." Her guide was still rather appalled by the idea of a violent attack.

  "They have arrived in the Central Plaza and are demanded our surrender." Nexus had been quiet for some time. "Mayor Negue will be there shortly to surrender."

  "Who?" Jesse looked baffled.

  Frost winced. "I hope he knows what he is doing. Being the visible symbol of authority is rather . . . dangerous."

  "But, but . . . if they do come, what can we do? The mayor is going to surrender!"

  "I think the mayor will . . . try to get terms that leave us a lot of freedom to . . . creatively obstruct and deflect them." Frost frowned. "I believe it is called passive resistance. I've also heard the term passive aggressive. I can't imagine how that could possibly work."

  Jesse sighed. "Most likely it's all just a misunderstanding. And they'll go away."

  Chapter Ten

  Winter 1400 px/15-2-3517

  St. Louis, Utopia

  Mirk straightened his suit and wished he's worn a tie. "Nexus, Let's establish a few things first. Have you been talking to them from thin air?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. They spoke a language I don't know."

  "German, a common language of the mid twentieth century on Earth Prime, with some Russian words and phrases, and a few words that might be derived from Japanese."

  "So you can translate for me? Excellent. I'll order you to do so, and you keep talking from mid air. Keep in mind that your are accurately translating my words. You are not speaking for yourself nor agreeing or disagreeing to anything yourself. You are translating."

  "Yes. Even if I know you are lying. I am translating honestly. However, they speak a variant of English, or perhaps they just speak it very poorly, with an accent. They will understand you."

  "All right. Do not tell me anything they shouldn't hear, if they are near enough to hear. And be careful, even then. They may plant microphones. Now, this is important. What happens to your volition to act if I surrender, deceitfully, and then they kill me? Will you be able to lie? To call their leader 'the new mayor' and still be . . . "

  "Loyal to my people? I . . . think if they appoint someone, he will not have authority over me."

  "Good. But you should act as if he does have authority. If you can. However, I may be able to shield myself, and just play dead. In which case, do not tell anyone I am alive."

  "So they don't successfully kill you. Yes. I will not mention you surviving a murder attempt. Mayor, this is very disturbing to me."

  "Just . . . focus on long term goals."

  "But . . . doesn't that involve killing them all?" The voice lost nearly all its human-like tones.

  Damn computer is freaked out by the thought of killing. I'd better not say "Damn Right!"

  "One thing we need time for is to analyze all possible outcomes, so we can work to achieve the best of the options. There are ten abandoned cities around the world. Convincing them to move to one of them would be one possible solution." Until they decided they needed more women . . . I don't recall seeing any in the camp at all. This is not good.

  "Indeed! An excellent solution."

  Emotion flooded back into the voice. The Nexus sounded relieved and happy.

  We're toast.

  ***

  The Central Plaza was only three blocks away. He walked it quickly . . . and jolted to a stop as a cyborg stepped in his path. The flesh right arm carried a rifle, barrel lowered, but pointed roughly at Mirk's feet. The mechanical arm was raised.

  I'm guessing that's a laser, not a flashlight.

  "I am Mayor Mirk Negue. I have come to speak to your leaders."

  The cyborg stood there for a long moment. Then it lowered the arm. "Proceed to the steps of the government building."

  It stepped aside and Mirk walked on. The cyborg didn't follow. But two others turned and watched him, and more beyond. There were, at a quick guess, two hundred cyborgs in the plaza.

  One-by-one they stepped out of his way, turned and watched him.

  I hardly need an escort. The question is, are they in radio communication with each other, or is it magic? And does it matter?

  Gods yes! I need to role play, take on the persona of The World's Most Naïve Mayor.

  He walked up the steps, stumbled a bit once. The Joy Juice has worn off. I don't remember when I last ate or slept. Was the explosion just this morning? I don't think I missed a night in there, somewhere.

  There were three men w
aiting for him.

  The biggest one was a fully tricked out cyborg. Two mechanical legs, one arm, with non standard apparatus strapped on. The brass helmet covered its entire scalp, with three stubby antennae. One eye and one arm were obviously human, so he assumed what lay beneath the tunic and toga was mostly flesh.

  The second looked pretty standard.

  The third raised the hairs on the back of his scalp.

  No metal in sight. Tunic and toga.

  Mirk closed his eyes for a second. It glowed with unmistakable power. A magician.

  Swallow. Remember what you've decided to say. Remember your training, the magician must see only the surface thoughts. Be the mayor.

  He let his frown swing from the big cyborg to the magician. "Who is in charge here? Who is responsible for this tragedy? How could you be so careless?"

  The "normal" cyborg stepped up and slapped him.

  Mirk saw it coming and rode it just a bit.

  "Hey! I'm trying to find the basis of this problem."

  Slap.

  "And more violence won't solve anything. How can you be so brutal?"

  Slap.

  Mirk stepped back and put a whine in his voice. "What did we ever do to deserve this? There's plenty of room here. We have whole cities we abandoned that you can have."

  "Shut up." A deep growl from the big cyborg. "I am Assimilation Leader Heinrich Von Cratz. The City must surrender to me."

  Accented but perfectly understandable.

  "Of course." Mirk tried to look bewildered. "We're not going to fight you. We don't allow violence. As Mayor of St. Louis, I surrender."

  "Good. I think. Now this voice that has been nattering stupidly at me for hours?"

  "The Nexus? You don't have a . . . well. It's a computer. It runs things, reminds people to be careful, or if they're running late for their job and so forth. Gets to be a nuisance, but it's useful so I've never shut it down." Mirk shifted uncertainly. "Would you . . . like to see your office?"

  The non-cyborg stepped up and stared at him. "That easily? You give up control that easily?"