by Pam Uphoff
And watched the two witches' spreading smiles.
All of us. We're all three dimensionally able. I guess I should have known, since we don't have handles on our bubbles. Not that Teri would actually bother telling us that.
Frost reached out and cupped something in her hands.
And those cyborgs are in big trouble, now.
Chapter Sixteen
Winter 1400 px/19-2-3517
St. Louis, Utopia
Mirk's new self-appointed boss had decided to start the day with a tour of the construction site.
"We've got the process down pat now. Just three days for each barracks, And we'll be completing at least one a day. Two, as soon as we boost concrete production."
He could feel Von Cratz's gaze.
"I am impressed that you could do so, so quickly."
"Excess capacity was idled, not dismantled. Our population is stable now, but still very far down from the peak of our population, a thousand years ago. Our people just don't seem terribly interested in parenthood."
"They had better find an interest, quickly."
Time for a change of subject.
"I suppose you deliberately put your gate here, a dozen miles from the city." Mirk didn't turn to look at Von Cratz.
"Gates attach randomly, until there is a beacon in place. We moved the beacon several hundred miles and activated it here, to bring in my troops."
Mirk nodded. "Did you expect a fight, or is this just the standard number of troops a conqueror brings along to a new world? Or . . . well . . . did you expect a fight?"
"The first quick scouting mission found this city, and talked to your Nexus. What a pathetic computer program."
"Huh. And not one that gives out much news about such an important thing. The first I was aware of your presence was your show of force—burning down a few homes and stores."
"It served its purpose."
"Yes." Mirk tried hard to radiate honesty. "At least it was enough that I was recalled from my vacation early. I'm nearly afraid to ask how long you were here before you forced the Nexus to let us know about you."
"Why didn't you ask it that?" Von Cratz turned and eyed him.
"It . . . always considers what is best for me to know, before it will tell me. There are days that I despise that thing."
The cyborg threw its head back and laughed.
Old Gods, I didn't think he knew how.
"We discovered this world three months ago. I came through with the scout team. I wanted to see the ground myself. And found myself arguing with a verdamned aircar. It wanted us to come to this city, a few hundred miles away. So we came and took a tour. And then we moved the beacon to within easy striking distance, installed it and went back to world 529. And returned with a small army. I expected that this was merely one city of hundreds, and that the might of a nation, if not a world, would be thrown at us." Von Cratz stomped up to the foundation installed overnight and frowned at the wall segments being erected upon it. "I wanted to capture this city, get control of its manufacturing before the rest attacked. We did not realize the isolated nature of the city, nor the tiny population. Hardly worth the cost of a full invasion."
"Then why do you stay . . . the accident that started this fire . . . it didn't destroy this 'gate' of yours, did it?" Mirk allowed himself to sound and look hopeful.
Got the expected glare.
"The beacon is undamaged. All the gate equipment and the mentalists who operate it are on the other side. They will reestablish contact soon enough. I'm hoping to complete the barracks and have room for more soldiers. Not that I'll hire any more for some time. But once we have mentalists, we'll build up and conquer the next world, and the next."
Mirk eyed the cyborg. "Hire? Are you all mercenaries?"
Von Cratz moved with blinding speed and Mirk hit the ground hard, rolled away and scrambled to his feet, still backing away.
"How dare you insult me! I am a son of one of the leading families of the Drei Mächte Bündniss. I hire mercenaries." He leaned close. "And if you insult me again, I will show you that I can also manufacture them."
"I . . . I beg your pardon." And I really will kill you, once I figure out if that's a good or bad idea. "I just . . . I don't know anything about you people. What sort of government do you have?"
"We are ruled by the Elect, who are advised by the Council. One third of the Council comes from each of the three powers. The Hundred Families of each power each send a representative to the Council. And from those three hundred, thirty are selected to form the Elect.
"My family is one of the Hundred. I will prove myself worthy." Von Cratz leaned in close. "And you are going to help me, whether you want to or not."
Mirk backed further. "Sorry, sir. Of course I will help you . . . Are you going to attack any of the other cities here?"
Von Cratz sighed. "Why? They're no challenge. I doubt we can overcome their birth conditioning sufficiently to even make them into soldiers. They're just . . . workers. I'll leave them alone so long as they don't bother me."
"I'm really glad to hear that."
Sort of. It might have been useful to spread them out over ten cities.
***
"Felix? How are you doing?" Mirk eyed the man. The eyepatch. "Did the surgeon remove that contraption?"
"It fell off. Dr. Rivera says the stuff in my head is being rejected too." His hand went to his bald head. "She says it's bulging out, and the bone is regrowing under it. That the wires in my brain are disappearing. I . . . I'll be glad to have all the voices go away. But I wish they hadn't amputated my arm. Polluters."
"Indeed." Prince Staven's arm grew back. Is it just the Joy Juice? I heard that the Goddess of Health had a personal hand in his recovery. "These voices, are they the cyborgs?"
"Of course. They halfway made me into one of them." His right hand hovered over the eyepatch, then dropped to his chest. "They're interesting to listen to. But I get tired and confused, can't tell them apart from a dream, or the orders."
Mirk nodded. "So I've heard. So they have actual working telepathy? Or just radios?"
"Mirk? They can't be from Earth, can they? The Earth did some experiments with genes and telepathy. But they mostly just fixed genetic problems. Some of the colonists, and more of their kids had engineered genes, and the backup embryo bank was supposed to have had all the problems fixed, they were supposed to have the most intelligent, the most musically inclined genes and so forth. I never really thought about it. Until I got these voices in my head. Are we just like them?"
So. The Utopians have some telepathy genes? Probably no power genes, else they would have noticed, over fourteen centuries. But does this mean Felix can get into their secrets? Or just that he cannot keep our secrets safe?
Chapter Seventeen
Winter 1400 px/20-2-3517
St. Louis, Utopia
"What are all these bottles?"
Halberd looked around. The Rebel Kids, as they'd started calling themselves, were looking over the tableful of potions.
"Potions. Magic potions." Napalm grinned. "Most of them are just cosmetic, but some of them add power genes. It's stuff we grabbed before we . . . left where we used to live."
"Mombasa?" Arthur was looking skeptical.
"Before that. We came here through a dimensional gate. Like how Utopia was colonized in the first place. Like how the Cyborgs got here."
"Oh. Huh. I just figured they were from a city that the Nexus didn't control." Benjamin picked up a bottle. "So I could be a wizard? That's stupid. Magic is just a silly thing in stories."
Arthur nodded, looking a bit wistful. "Yeah, it doesn't make sense, just from the point of energy requirements."
"That's where the power genes come in. They let you use outside power sources. Like you use machinery. You still have to work the controls and pay attention to what you're doing, but the energy requirements are otherwise provided by your battery." Napalm frowned. "Do you guys use gasoline for anything?"
&
nbsp; They looked blank.
Halberd sighed and turned back to her captured bubble. Very carefully opened a hole in it, and managed to not pop it. She huffed out an irritated breath. Once successfully holed, the bubbles seemed to get more robust. Closing the hole, and then opening it again rarely popped it. The second and third of three holes at once were likewise less likely to pop it.
"Is that a good idea? Art? You don't know what these goofy girls actually put in that 'magic potion' you know." Ralph Griffin started out sounding worried and ended up with a sneer in his voice.
Halberd looked over. "Wine, mostly. Some have milk or syrup in them."
"Wine? That's . . . illegal, dangerous." Evelyn walked over to the table. "What's it taste like?"
"Sort of sharp and bitter . . . a little bit like vinegar." Arthur recorked the bottle. "So how long until I'm a mage?"
Napalm and Halberd exchanged glances and shrugs.
Then the kids all started sampling. Halberd grabbed the hex jar. "Not this one. Trust me, you don't want this one."
"Nothing's happening."
Halberd sighed and stuck her empty bubble on her arm. "Look, this isn't like in the silly stories. This is just a talent you've acquired. You have to learn how to do it, then you have to work and gain strength doing it. Most people who are born with the genes can't do anything until they're fifteen or sixteen. Napalm and I are both precocious. So just relax. It'll happen. Later."
Dubious nods all around.
They'll probably be fabbing weird crooked magic wands as soon as they get home.
"Well, I'm going to check that our repairs to the south tunnel are still all right after they repaved the street overhead." Halberd hopped on her new bike—too small for her legs, but on her regular bike she'd kept hitting her head.
She ignored the snicker of the kids following her as she wobbled down the tunnel, knees sticking out like a dork, cruising around the curve in the dark.
Her headlight illuminated the cyborg for a few frozen seconds.
Then she crashed into him.
Scrambled to her feet, grabbed the bike and swung it around and hit the cyborg as he tried to get up.
Snatched the bubble off her arm, ripped open the hole and swooped it over the tangle of cyborg and bike. Closed it.
"Oh . . . crap." She held it out at arm's-length and looked over at her wide-eyed audience. "What do I do with it now?"
Benjamin edged up and swiped his hand back and forth under hers. "You've really got the cyborg in there? In something?"
Napalm snickered. "And you dare not open it and try to get your brand new bike out."
Arthur bit his lip. "How long can you keep him in there?"
"There a ten-thousand-to-one time dilation. A day in there is like twenty-five years out here, so there's no rush. If I double bubbled him, five minutes is something like a thousand years."
Arthur grinned. "If, and mind you this is just a vague idea, if you could bubble up every cyborg you encountered alone . . . "
"There's twenty-two thousand of them." Napalm wrinkled her nose. "It'd take forever."
Halberd smiled thinly. "I wonder what they'd think, if their soldiers started disappearing? I'll talk to Frost. She may have some idea of how much we can put in one bubble. I suppose those new barracks would be too large."
"Yeah, and anyway, how do you get them to stay in the barracks while you're bubbling them?"
Shirley was looking alarmed. "We can't fight them! They'll fight back, and they've got weapons! And they won't know who did it . . . they killed eight people to intimidate us. They killed Mr. Nelson just for talking back. What if they blame someone and kill her? It would be our fault!"
This is as close as Utopians get to rebelling! Best quiet them down and approach each one individually.
"Yeah." Halberd made herself sigh and slump a bit. "Let's see what they do about this one going missing. If they get nasty, I'll take him and dump him out in the grasslands and run away before he sees me."
"Good idea." Arthur looked down the tunnel. "I'll go check the repairs real quick, then head back. We'll need to be nice and innocently home before anyone misses the cyborg."
Halberd shook her head. "If they're in the tunnels, they need to not see us. We need to hide the stuff we have down here."
"Oh . . . heck yeah. We don't want them searching for us. Drat." Arthur turned his bike around, and the other followed suit.
Napalm snickered. "Want to try to ride on my handlebars, Halberd?"
"I'll walk." And think about the best way to make cyborgs disappear.
Chapter Eighteen
Winter 1400 px/23-2-3517
St. Louis, Utopia
Mirk eyed the big cyborg thoughtfully. Is he keeping me close because he distrusts me? Because he like to have the former mayor running his errands? Or because he's lonely and needs someone to talk to?
"Our techs report that the mentalist embryos have been successfully defrosted and have started cellular division. We should know in a week if their further development is normal." He glanced down at his list. "Five barracks finished, and the main mess hall and kitchens are nearly finished. Food production has been bumped up five percent, and that seems to be covering your soldiers' needs. That's . . . well, that's pretty much it."
"Yes. Until the gate opens again, and I get more people through."
Was that a worry line creasing Von Cratz's forehead?
"I don't understand how these gates work. You need both mentalists and machinery?" A nod and frown. "And the fire . . . do you think the machinery was damaged, or the mentalists hurt?" Dare I hope killed?
That got an impatient shrug. "I will find out when it opens. No point in wasting time speculating."
Bored. That's not good.
Von Cratz shoved away from the desk and paced the length of the mayor's office and back. "Nexus . . . I need a woman. Send one to my hotel room."
"Please specify the job requirements so that I can send the appropriately trained personnel. There are no tasks that require female specific workers, and we always seek . . . "
"Shut up, machine. I want a woman to fuck."
"We strongly recommend Virtual reality venues for recreational sexual experiences."
Von Cratz ground his teeth and headed for the door.
Down the stairs to the subbasement.
Mirk followed him, apprehension building. Does he think a face-to-CPU discussion will work better? He stopped abruptly and let the door at the base of the stairs close behind Von Cratz. "Nexus, do you have citizens of the female persuasion who enjoy physical sex?"
"Yes, despite my . . . "
"Nexus, stop, please. Von Cratz is very dangerous. Talk to these women and ask for a volunteer to have sex with a cyborg. Pick the prettiest . . . no. Show me the pictures of the volunteers and I will tell you which one to send. Do not report this while I am in Von Cratz's presence or hearing range."
Mirk walked down the last flight and through the door.
In time to hear the screaming.
"Mirk Negue! He has killed a person and is having non-consensual sex with another! I . . . I do not know how to respond."
Mirk stopped. He did not want to see anything he might be moved to try to stop.
When did I turn into a hero? Never, that's when, so don't be stupid.
"You will say whatever is needed to keep him from killing someone else. You will say 'Yes, sir.' and 'No, sir.' as needed to de-escalate this situation."
"Yes, sir." It was probably his imagination that made the machine voice sound faint.
Heavy footsteps, Von Cratz stalked around the nearest corner. "You will send me two women who will enjoy having sex with me."
Pause. "Yes, sir."
Thank the Gods! Finally a sign of common sense from the Nexus.
Von Cratz passed him. "Come along, Mirk."
Woof, woof. Yes, Master.
He hung back long enough for the Nexus to show him an array of women. Two of them were in the same hol
o, elbowing each other. "Take me!" "No, me!" Both good lookers, young.
"Send those two. Tell the others they have to wait their turn." Mirk trotted on up the stairs.
Please no more disasters today.
"Mirk Negue." The Nexus's voice was at a bare whisper. "You must make these visitors go away. Or . . ."
Because they just killed and hurt the people you know the best, the ones who take care of you. The ones who check that everything is working right. Fix you if something goes wrong.
The people you care about the most.
"Yes." Because I think you just came close to wanting to kill a human. This is not a line that a machine should cross. Because I don't know if you can reverse course. Do you have a program for remorse?
So I will kill Von Cratz without consulting the Nexus. Once I get a better grip on what will happen afterwards, what sort of commands his soldiers have programmed in, in case of his death.
And what to do about that Mentalist.
Chapter Nineteen
Winter 1400 px/23-2-3517
St. Louis, Utopia
Frost watched the Mentalist, Dmitri Sokalov, prowl the Reproduction Center.
"The facilitiez are ackzeptable. Now, I zee zat you haf zeased ztarting new embryoz."
He eyed her, pale cold eyes assessing.
"Yes. I thought that once we know your embryos grow normally in our equipment we would need more empty artificial wombs than our usual seventeen a day, so we've stopped starting our own embryos."
"You zurprize me. You lezzer people are not ushually so zmart."
And your English is improving fast. Practice or picking brains?
"Thank you, sir." Frost had taken over liaison duty after a few minor . . . relationship problems. "Dr. Haruki has monitored the process all along, and I have attempted to anticipate his requirements." Goodness, I didn't realize I had so many stiff stuck-up words in my vocabulary. Speaking of language improvements.