Wine of the Gods 4: Explorers

by Pam Uphoff

  Lefty scooped up his backpack. The God's hand touched his shoulder and they were standing beside a steaming pool. They looked around, no troops in sight. The road was empty. The Auld Wulf listened carefully, then closed his eyes and concentrated for a long moment.

  "I don't want to get too fancy until we see what they are going to do. For now, I'll travel your troops to and from Karista."

  "Fancy?"

  "Yes. I don't want to leave something around that they might find. It would be more dangerous than leaving the road open. Strange, how hard it is to see them. I suppose it's the utter lack of magic. But there are so many of them, they will work as a guide post."

  He touched Lefty's shoulder again, and they were standing in the grass beside the north entrance of the Earthers' camp. The soldiers on duty came alert and started scanning the road.

  :: Gravity meters started acting up, most likely. :: Lefty suggested.

  :: I wonder if there's a distance beyond which they can't detect it? :: The Auld Wulf waited patiently until the sentries had settled down. Then they walked past them into the gate camp in broad daylight, and found Never and Dydit's cave under the expanded camp. A tunnel from there got them under some barracks and a mess hall. Handy for picking up general information. They prowled the camp, listening in at the headquarters. Everyone was tense, but nothing seemed to be moving toward an immediate attack. They located General Hatterus's office, and dug out a small cave under it. Lefty tried hard not to think of it as about the size of a grave. An inch of hard rock over it, with holes for listening through the even smaller holes up through the flooring of the box a few inches above the ground. A soldier could slide down a tunnel feet first and lay there and listen, crawl out whenever he needed to. Really. It wasn't a bit grave-like.

  The Auld Wulf grinned, apparently hearing his opinion loud and clear.

  Lefty looked around in satisfaction. "It's excellent, sir. Now I just need people."

  Two days later a squad was making themselves comfortable, and writing down everything said in the General's office, the barracks and mess hall. The Auld Wulf promised to rotate them out every two weeks.

  Colonel Elton and the last of his troops dragged in after a miserably cold trip across the Arctic, and the messages flew back and forth through the gate.

  The diplomatic mission was surrounded by invisible witches and wizards, and overlapping magical shields. The Auld Wulf, an odd sight in a city suit, traveled them to a spot just outside the Army Camp, beside the road to the Rip. They all stood silently watching as the guards over-reacted and attempted to shoot them. Lord Mason watched impassively as the officers ordered a cease fire and the unprepared group of government people figured out who had any diplomatic experience, and seniority. The group that finally approached them contained a miscellany of civilians and soldiers. And the usual attitude. Apparently even a military defeat was insufficient to shake their egos.

  "I am Richard DeMonte, senior government spokesman here." The man was abrupt, but not out and out rude.

  "Mister DeMonte." His lordship inclined his head slightly. "I am Lord Banjam Mason, representing King Rebo Negue. Your government ordered an attack on our people, and we defeated you. Despite the injuries and the fatality your people inflicted on ours, we have no wish for a war. We will allow you to use this vicinity as a staging area for diplomatic efforts. You are allowed to have a maximum of one hundred persons here at any given time. We will come by regularly to exchange diplomatic messages."

  The Earthers stiffened. "We do not take ultimatums from savages."

  "It is fortunate, then, that we are not. We are a civilized people, and we will continue to attempt diplomacy until such a time as we are forced into war. Think very carefully about our abilities."

  The man opened his mouth to reply, and the Auld Wulf whisked them all away.

  "What an insufferable lot." Lord Mason looked around the foggy gloom of the Rip. "Fascinating, though, to see magic in action. Perhaps they will be equally impressed and decide to try diplomacy next. We'll give them a month to think about it and position something resembling an ambassador." Moments later, they were back at the plaza in front of the ruins of the Temple of Ba'al.

  Lefty came and went from the spy posts.

  Very much to his relief, troops started moving back to Earth. By the end of the month the camp was nearly deserted, and some civilians came and went. The next diplomatic visit was not shot at, one of the few positive features of it. The Earthers were still convinced they were speaking to representatives of the One World.

  Rufi shrugged. "No doubt they'll be spying on us. Perhaps they will figure out that we have nothing to do with these One Worlders. Maybe we can make sure they see that we are not a threat to them. I trust we've already made it clear we aren't going to be easy victims."

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  25 December, 3477

  Earth, Nowhereistan

  "I do not believe this."

  Florian Hastenberg and Jackson Jefferson made a glum pair in a dark corner of the festive and noisy room. The strip of town characterized by bars, restaurants and brothels was an open party for all the government and company people stuck here for the winter holidays. There were plenty of them. This year's mix was heavy on military uniforms; a lot of soldiers who had come prepared for war and hadn't been sent back home yet. Enough who had fought that the pair hadn't had any trouble getting several of them drunk and talkative.

  "Oner tech, being passed off as 'Magic' oh goody." Florian finished the disgusting punch and leaned out for a refill as a waitress swooped by, pitcher in each hand. "And there's not a single mention of the One World in the News. Just a brief bit about Native violence, easily stopped, no mention of where it happened."

  "And Lon's been given my prospect. Carolina New Ventures backed out of the deal they had been negotiating for months, just before Lon got back with the anchor fixed and a gold ore sample. Now New Carolina is trying to make me quit. I'm assigned to a cadre on one of their worthless worlds, as the camp manager. Do you believe that? I have to meet the Exploration Manager in two days and we'll be gating in four."

  Florian nodded sympathetically. "Just make sure you hire mostly girl drivers. Then there will be something to take your mind off the tedium." Unless the Driver's Union is still blaming him for the debacle on Mosquito Mountain.

  "Ha! What I'll need is some dumb muscle to run cable and plumbing to the boxes. The rest I can do myself. A bit of ground clearing, set down the new boxes and expand them. Add them to the existing plumbing and cables. Nothing to it. I've seen it done plenty of times."

  Florian had been other people's "dumb muscle" often enough to not appreciate the snotty manager who always kept his own hands clean. He, himself had dodged disaster when no one followed up on Lon's accusations. But his boss had been looking at him funny. He wondered what the Oner's escape looked like, on his records. Maybe, if they were really burying all reference to the One World, the escape would disappear as well. He could transfer, slide away from the gossip, maybe get a posting on one of the colony worlds, all those buxom farm girls who were true humans, from Earth stock . . .

  His com beeped, he had a message, no, just a memo from HQ. Report to personnel office 27-12-3477. Your transfer papers to the administrative slot on Mining World 969 will be waiting. Est. gate, 29-12-3477 23:50. Congratulations.

  "Mining World 969?" The lack of a distinguishing name wasn't promising.

  "Yeah. The Company just acquired it as part of a takeover of a bankrupt mining company. It's going to be a real bitch. Under funded right from the start, ten years ago. No way in Hell are they going to get me to go down any of those mine shafts. What about it?"

  Florian just waylaid a waitress and snatched her pitcher. "We need it. Trust me."

  Epilogue

  25 April 3480

  The Hague, Earth

  " . . . The impact dates, backed up by the DNA evidence are therefore clear indicators of the age and cause of the split of what I
propose we call the Hygiea Branch." Lon Hackathorn looked around the packed auditorium. The Dimensional Exploration Conference was a yearly event, the largest conference for the industry. The money Dallas Dimensional was pulling in pretty much guaranteed the SRO audience for their presentation. Lon was giving the overview and introducing the specialists. "But one of the most intriguing discoveries is that of the forty-two Hygiea Branch worlds leased to date, four have a Native population all of whom speak a derivative of English, all of whom show that they have split from the main Earth genetic lineages thirteen or fourteen hundred years ago, and all of whom show variable amounts of genetic engineering. We propose that they were all transported to their worlds, not so much as part of an Early Diaspora, but rather as a means of disposal. The pre-WWV era was noted for the genocide of several million genetically engineered people—but no evidence, no mass graves, no eye witnesses ever surfaced. Whether the tech of that time, which must have been primitive compared to ours, was not good enough to detect the danger, or if the Exile was believed to be a death sentence is unknown, and due to the destruction of the Trans World Travel plant, probably will never be known. We have documentary evidence that they had a working prototype of a trans-dimensional gate, and possibly colonized some worlds, and probably marooned exploratory parties when that first gate was destroyed."

  The audience was a bit boggled over that, and he went on. "Now I'll turn the podium over, first to our astronomy team, then the geologists, the biologists and finally the sociologists and linguists."

  All he could do was hope everyone would want to study the people, not destroy them. He hoped he was doing those fascinating 'magic' cultures a favor, but a really bad reaction from the government . . . The Purple People had caught the fancy of the public, and since they had a mid-industrial age civilization, trading with them looked to be a good bet. Their "magic" was minor, and generally considered parlor tricks. The other two had much less engineering, no magic that anyone had seen, and much less interesting worlds. Perhaps they could be left alone. Comet Fall itself . . . hard to say.

  He sat down and scanned the crowd, easily picking out Councilor Carmichael and his staff, surrounded by their security escort now that he was officially running for President of the World. Lon had donated a whopping big chunk of his mind bogglingly large bonus to Howie's campaign. It would be nice to have someone with some sense in the office, for a change.

  Even if he felt the occasional twinge of pain, seeing Carol so happy beside another man.

  The large contingent from the company had taken over a section of the seating. Lon nodded politely to almost the entire Board of Directors.

  Simon Meese leaned forward. "I expect your theory will make headlines. Especially since so much money is involved."

  Ogilby snorted. "I want to know what he's going to do next."

  "Well once the next round of sales is done we should consider the expense of a second gate anchor for Mosquito Mountain, it would make the exploration of the other continents feasible, and sales of rights much easier."

  Clinton Thronson, the largest shareholder interrupted. "But what if the other continents aren't as mineral rich as Asia?"

  Simon Meese made a rude noise. "Three-fourths the cost is in the power for the gate time. We can always sell the anchor later. Thank you, Lon, we appreciate all you've done for the company. Even your old Twelve fifty-three may pay off eventually. The Army claims to be using it as a training ground, so packets to the camp and the astronomers, and their personal travel is a minimal expense."

  "Glad to hear that, sir." Lon wondered if he'd ever hear about spies, and decided that he was better off not knowing. "If the complications resolve, we may have another very valuable world. I suppose we'll see in four and a half years."

  "I hope the army hasn't destroyed any chance at a good relationship with the local government. Their offer to trade for electronics and power sources, with a five percent interest in the profits, split equally between the five nations, and kept in Earth banks for further equipment purchases was sensible and dirt cheap." Meese scowled. "But I suppose we'd best see about this comet, first."

  Ogilby nodded. "Your suggestion about subleases in this band of worlds was spot on. We've bought substantial interests in a dozen worlds and with strong suggestions from us, the majority holders have since made three solid discoveries. Hydrothermal zones, as you recommended. However, getting back to what you were saying . . . "

  "I was just going to say that we've been so busy that we've never gotten to Twelve-forty. I think it's about time a Development Manager took over Twelve-seventeen and I got back to what I'm best at. Exploring new worlds."

  "Excellent idea."

  About the Author

  I was born and raised in California, and have lived more than half my life, now, in Texas.

  Wonderful place. I caught almost the first bachelor I met here, and we’ve just celebrated our thirty-third anniversary.

  My degree's in Geology. After working for an oil company for almost ten years as a geophysicist, I "retired" to raise children. As they grew, I added oil painting, sculpting and throwing clay, breeding horses, volunteering in libraries and for the Boy Scouts, and worked as the treasurer for a friend’s political campaign. Sometime in those busy years, I turned a love of science fiction into a part time job reading slush, unsolicited manuscripts, for Baen Books (Mom? Someone is paying you to read??!!)

  I've always written, published a few short stories. But now that the kids have flown the nest, I'm calling writing a full time job.

  Other Titles by Pam Uphoff

  Wine of the Gods Series:

  Outcasts and Gods

  Exiles and Gods (Three Novellas)

  The Black Goats

  Explorers

  Spy Wars

  Comet Fall

  A Taste of Wine (Seven Tales)

  Dark Lady

  Growing Up Magic (Four Stories)

  Short Stories:

  Fancy Farmer

  Lawyers of Mars

  Lost Boy

  Mall Santa

  Excerpt from an Upcoming Release

  The God of Assassins

  Chapter One

  Mid Winter 1393

  Karista, Kingdom of the West

  Captain Prince Staven Negue drug his mind back from the tick of hard snow against the windows, and shook his head at his Uncle Fossi's latest plan to corral the Crown Prince's heir.

  My baby brother.

  I remember how happy Father was, the day he was born.

  Now he just looks tired. So does everyone else. Grandfather—King Leeno— and Uncle Rufi—who is his Spear. The other nations laugh at our two headed arrangement, but Leeno and Rufi support each other and act as a check on each other's power. As Fossi with the Army will both support and limit Rolo when he takes the throne. And here I am. Rebo's spear prince. Old Gods help me!

  He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat.

  "I guess I'm going to have to be the one to say it. Rebo is not, and in my opinion, never will be, fit to rule the kingdom. I move we summon the Head of the Council and request that he be formally removed from the succession."

  "But . . . " Crown Prince Rolo, his father and Rebo's, looked away, a sheen of tears in his eyes.

  The king shut his eyes; a vertical line of pain creased his forehead.

  Fossi met Staven's eyes. "That means removing you as well."

  "And I don't have any more sons." Rolo scowled at him, anger in his voice. "You can't do this to yourself!"

  The king lifted a hand. "Staven can be reinstated. Garit is a year and a half younger, if he was named your crown heir, Staven would be the obvious choice for his Spear."

  Rolo was shaking his head. "We can't pass over Mirk . . . who, frankly would be a much better administrator than Garit. He already is."

  "Mirk is forty-two. We'd have to find some distant cousin older than him who is in the army, to be his military leader." The king exchanged glances with Rufi.


  Rufi shrugged. "Benni's got three or four grandsons who'd qualify. Kersh's sons . . . are a bit old." He shrugged ruefully. "All right, so they are younger than I am. Neither of them are in the army. Pity Fidel's younger boy is so young, he's a fire eater."

  Fossi grinned suddenly. "How about Franki?"

  "Too young, thank the gods." The old king couldn't suppress a smile, but it was brief. "Well. The only thing I'm not hearing is support for Rebo." He looked around the table, nodded. "Let's make it formal. All in favor of requesting the Council to remove Rebo from the succession?"

  Five raised hands. Even father knows it has to be done.

  "Very well. I will ask the Head of the Council to attend on me and break the news."

  ***

  Staven looked at the note and cussed. "Oh damn it, Rebo. Couldn't you behave for just another week?" He glanced over at the page, bouncing on his heels, and no doubt word Staven's exasperation with his brother would be all over the palace within the hour. "Fetch my horse, side door." The boy ran off and Staven headed for his wardrobe. He crumpled the note and tossed it in the general direction of his trash can. "Join me for dinner and entertainment? Old Gods know what he considers entertainment." He shut his mouth. Military Officers were not supposed to walk around muttering. Definitely civilian clothes for someplace out in the New Lands.

  Staven spotted his little brother, apparently waiting for him at the main entrance to the . . . Edge of the World. He swung down and handed his reins to the stable boy and stalked over to the insufferable brat.