by Pam Uphoff
"Err . . ."
"Check it out and start thinking about how to shift to all local Siberia Max investments." They were still staring at him as he walked out, calling a cab.
***
The first thing he did was go home. And grab a wine glass and take it upstairs to contemplate the half-full bottle on the credenza.
What exactly does this stuff do?
How does it locate the zivvy wires and what does it do to them? The people on Neu Frankfurt were quite certain that it dissolved them.
And look at Dina. Apparently she was barely able to talk, "read" one book over and over.
He poured a scant tablespoon into the glass. Dipped in a finger. Jerked at the contact with multiple impressions.
And so powerful I wouldn’t dare call it a granny potion, or “magic.” “Mentalist Impressions” sounds so much more scientific.
He closed his eyes and looked closer.
So many different shapes . . . wait, that's a simple health boost . . . there’s an antibiotic, a slightly different one, and bone repair. Antiviral. Acidic balance . . . detoxifier . . . That one, I should recognize that one . . .
He turned on his comp and brought up some old programs . . . I grew up in Mom's lab, reading everything I could get my hands on . . . no wonder I found school so boring. The attack sites for so many disease causing organisms . . . there! Malaria, the parasitic Plasmodium. I knew I recognized that one.
My. God.
He grabbed a tissue and wiped his finger. Didn't help much.
Sat back and stared at the glass. They took every single healing impression they had and threw them all into a single stew of . . . everything and hoped that something, or some combination, would attack the zivvy.
"And it worked. God above."
He trotted all the way down to the garage and into the "wine cellar" room. Grabbed a cheap bottle of red wine off the bottom shelf and untwisted the lid.
Took a sip. A totally undrinkable cheap plonk. He tipped it and stuck his wiped-off finger in. And felt the glowing complexity of the stew of impressions growing through the whole bottle.
A von Neumann's. This is so dangerous . . . and so . . . fraught with possibilities, good and bad. I need to research this.
With permission. Very, very carefully.
***
Up Top—the original research facilities, portal and security forces had all been located up on what was, on other Worlds, the island of Malta—they were chewing over everything.
The Inquisitor eyed him. "You aren't worried about an invasion?"
"Well, yes. We're too small to fend off any serious attack, if they get a foothold. But even if it's just a smash-and-grab of all the zivvy they can find, they'll leave behind damage we may have trouble repairing and replacing."
That caught the attention of the people around the table.
"Are we still getting regular shipments from Regulus Hub?" He glanced up the table toward the Governor, who nodded.
"And ship-throughs, not even rumors of the Plague from any Worlds down tier."
The Boss eyed the Governor. "What options do we have to replace those sources, if there is a problem? If we have to shut the portals?"
Everyone looked disturbed. The rules were simple. Hubs—Worlds that had discovered and settled or conquered other Worlds—could open a portal outward, to those vassal Worlds, but not backwards, to a lower tier, without specific permission. Siberia Max often explored unclaimed Worlds, and had sold several to mining, lumbering or colony groups. The Hub that had discovered Siberia Max—Tier Four Regulus—could open to them and, by law, received a portion of all trade goods they exported. And Regulus had given Siberia Max permission to open to them, so they could send and receive shipments at their own expense.
What Fourth Tier Hub Budapest Reborn had done was very much against the law, opening a portal to a World belonging to another branch, belonging to another hub . . . and nothing they could stop if they weren't able to send a complaint through four tiers to the Home World. Get it heard. And have them respond.
So our complaint and any response have to travel through seven other Worlds. During the Plague. Not good odds.
"Going the other direction, we've opened a lot of worlds." Axel looked down the table at the Exploration Administrator. "What pioneering worlds have we sold and stayed in contact with, ditto resource worlds, vacation worlds etc. Do we have trade in that direction? We need some redundancy . . .
"And what do we have to trade, if the financial system crashes?"
Uneasy looks around the table.
"What infrastructure do we need to build now, while we have resources, money? For instance, if my cows arrive, do we need a dairy? Can we import specific dairy breeds and people who know what to do with them? Should we import dairy equipment?
"Encourage more farms?" from someone down the table.
"And butchers, tanners . . . maybe we need a list of everything we import . . ." another fellow started tapping at his computer . . .
"Not," the Governor stated, "that it will come to a complete collapse of civilization, but reducing our dependence on portal trade during these unsettling times . . ."
***
It was late when Axel left and headed back to Vinogradov House. So “unfortunate” he'd missed dinner. He dropped down to the kitchen to beg a snack, and found not a lot handy.
"Where's Miss Agrafina?" he followed the glances. "Are your funds drained already? Let me fix that . . . how much do you need a month and you're already short by the twentieth?"
"Not too short, my Lord, but we weren't certain what would happen now, so we decided to be careful."
"A good precaution, but I'll see what I can do about getting your funds a permanent boost. Maybe build up a backlog of non-perishables." He pulled out cards and got her enough to get through the month, and received assurances that a meal would be delivered shortly. "Just a snack or something, don't go fancy on me."
Miss Agrafina was placing an order with the grocer as he left.
Which was quite disturbing. We're days away from starvation.
***
The Rangers brought him soup, salad, sandwich, and tea before he'd gotten out of his suit coat and tie.
"Well. I've split Dear Uncle's Trust between the cousins. Unfortunately, they were so cash poor that I was forced to take my management fee in property. Specifically, you four. Now I know I have . . ."
"Yippee!" Natasha threw herself at him in a big hug, the guys were grinning . . .
". . . a reputation to keep up as a brutal taskmaster." They snickered. "So let's start by relocating a number of things to the house which I'm sure Natasha has failed to describe . . ."
"F-four empty bedrooms." Pauli grinned. "Barf will have to s-sleep on the couch so th-there's room for the electronics . . ."
"I was thinking the garage might have to become the combined library and electronics room."
They looked horrified.
"But what about a car?" Dimitri yelped.
"Important man like you needs a car." Barf frowned at him.
"H-he's s-single. A h-hot sports car." Pauli eye him. "What s-so f-funny?"
"You are all so predictable. I think I'll rent an office and the books and electronics can mostly go there."
They all brightened. "We'll find you a good one!"
Pauli looked around with an innocent expression. "Master!"
"Don't even joke about it! I dislike the whole . . ."
"S-sorry, b-ut how m-many square feet d-do you th-think y-you'll need and . . ."
He munched while they threw ideas around.
And made mental notes.
In the morning he hit his office to carry out the start of his nefarious plans. A company, a bank account, spending authority for the Rangers . . .
He stopped at yet another invasion of his office.
"The Inquisitor wishes to see you."
Chapter Thirteen
Home
Saturday, November 17, 3
738
Axel eyed the messenger.
"He said to wear the fancy suit. And die?" A faint uncertainty wobbled the young man's voice at the end.
"Right. Do you have a car? Then let's go."
What's one more person knowing where I'm going to be living full time, starting real soon now.
A quick brush through of the hair dye, and then the fancy suit, which had spatter cloth lining and was hotter than hell, the formal knee-high "riding" boots and the briefcase full of interesting items, half of them disguised as grooming aids . . .
He grabbed the sword belt and short saber, just-in-case they were going to be really formal. Outside of lessons and practice, I've never used it. He tromped hard on a thought that maybe this time . . . and headed back out to where his young driver did a double take and then straightened his expression.
Axel grinned. "Yes, that kind of dye." And ignored the man's reddened neck.
They took the road up the cliffs, then curved toward the Dimensional Experimental Station. The portal facility here "Up Top" was either the oldest or youngest of the three Siberia Max portals, depending on whether major rebuilds counted, or not. The other two portal facilities were down on the flats, and much more convenient for commerce.
Most Alliance level business ran through here, as well as exploration, espionage, and experimentation.
It appeared today as if both first and last were in play.
Four young men, sitting around a small table, were putting helmets on their bald heads with trailing wires. Techs appeared to be doing some finicky adjustments . . .
Axel got his attention back to the group around Inquisitor Gorbachev. His boss was there, and Murphy and Ape, standing back a respectful bit, but obviously listening to the last man. Governor Berezin was looking very unhappy.
"Well, we have to know. But please try to not get caught." He turned and walked away.
The vehicle lined up for transit was locally known as the Battle Limo. A carefully designed facade over a military-grade all-terrain chassis. Armored, of course. With a luxury interior.
The Inquisitor eyed him. "I'm going to pay a visit to my grandfather on the Home World. And find out if Vice President Sokolovsky's claims are true. Would you care to join me?"
Holy crap! Opening a portal to the Home World could be considered treason.
Axel bowed. "Certainly, sir."
First stop, a side room, with his boss. "Drop. Every. Single. Weapon. You've. Got."
Axel blinked. "Oh. So there is absolutely no armed invasion."
He blinked at the two Cyborg lasers laying on the table. Holy . . .
He set the sword and the case on the table, emptied his pockets, the boot knife . . . picked up a cash card and slid it into a pocket. "Well. Guess that'll do." He tossed the loose items into the case.
Shrugged. "Might as well leave everything else."
His boss snorted. "Just keep Grigory alive. The item in the trunk is a one-time-only beacon that will self-destruct fifteen minutes after it is activated. We will start searching for it at twenty-one hundred hours, for fifteen minutes. And every hour on the hour our time. You will need to find a place to bury it two feet deep, for wheel clearance."
"So no retrieval."
Nod. "The Inquisitor, while he can only go to his Family, is concerned that the Family will suffer if the authorities find out . . ."
"I will minimize that risk. Murphy and Ape are going?"
"Yes, and yes, they have the same instructions." He rubbed his temples. "Damn, I hope you all get laughed at."
"Yes, but . . . it might be a good idea to stop routine chipping, and save what zivvy we have on hand for criminal cases."
His boss eyed him. "Damn. Maybe we'd better."
Axel picked up the jacket and walked back out. Kicked himself for not noticing that Murphy and Ape had both removed the lasers that usually perched on their left forearms.
"I would have paid to see the expressions on your faces . . ."
Murphy made a rude gesture.
Ape snickered, "So tell us, Mentalist Lord Igor, what do you think of that?" he pointed at the four men, all now with helmets, the techs standing back.
"Another of Dr. Borodin's experiments? I hope it works better this time. Anything is better than a guy hard-wired into a coffin, screaming in pain, so I'm all for it." Axel looked over at the quad. "I wonder if they're all portal makers, or . . ."
One of the techs looked over. "They're below the threshold, but together they can do it. Most of the time. So they're not as reliable, but . . ."
Axel closed his eyes and looked at the quad as they started collecting power, lumpy and uneven, the most powerful trying to make up for the weaker two . . . Axel opened his eyes. Pointed. "Those two need to swap places. The leader needs to mellow out and not push too hard, too fast."
The techs glowered at him.
He shrugged. "I have a fair amount of quad experience."
The leader shrugged. "Give it a try." And gave Axel a frown. "I have to push, or there won't be enough power!"
The youngsters let the power fade.
"There will be. Stay out and just watch this."
The boy glared. Frightened. If this fails, they chip him and he loses everything.
Axel reached out to touch the shoulders of the boys on each side. :: Relax. this will just be a little power, this time. Let me do all the power additions. :: He could feel their trepidation, and sent a tiny bit of power to the left. :: Just pass it around, let it smear out. ::
He added power slowly, showed them how to pass it through without it touching their core, spun it slowly up to a beautiful spinning ring . . . then let the power fade, warming the air, floor . . . He released the shallow merge, and stepped back.
Spoke to the left-out leader. "This time you lead, and I'll help with a few techniques."
Axel stepped over behind the boy to the left. And watched. :: Slower, let it smooth out and hear it sing. Feel that? Hear that? Now build on it. Good. Now the Portal . . . ::
He backed away, spotted the wavering light, the sparks . . . sprinted for the Battle Limo.
Murphy started inching forward as an icy scene swung around, jerked down to a road . . . icy and empty. Murph gunned it and they flew through, thumped down hard.
Slid, slithered . . . straightened.
"Picking up satellite triangulation . . ." Ape grinned. "We're three miles from your Family Estate, Inquisitor. A bit more by road."
Axel looked from the empty road to the few houses in sight. Large, palatial. "Local time fifteen thirty-five? I'm surprised there's so little traffic. Any local news broadcasts?"
The Inquisitor was fiddling with the electronics in the back as he spoke. Picked up music . . . plenty of music . . . no advertisements? . . . A religious sermon . . . more music . . . And finally, news.
". . . refuse to give an estimate for when portal travel will resume. Twenty-four protesters were arrested for breaking the curfew when they refused to disperse when ordered. As the Plague continues its inexorable advance on other Worlds, so far the Home World has remained relatively untouched, with only thirty-eight cases. The quarantine is working and will continue until the threat is over . . ."
"Damn." Axel sat back. "Nothing about the 300 . . ." He shut up to listen again.
"Only known cases were exposed elsewhere, and they took precautions to not spread the contagion they came to warn us about."
The Inquisitor leaned forward. "Take the next left. At the fork, veer right."
He sat back shaking his head. "We could probably turn around and leave now. But I want details. And I have information for them. They need to know some things."
The Gorbachev Family Estate . . . was actually smaller than Vinogradov House. But definitely in the same class. And four times older, the roof pierced by multiple chimneys, three of them showing smoke in twilight as they turned up the drive. The gate was open, but swung shut behind them.
Guards—Military Cyborgs—converged on the
Battle Limo and stopped it well short of the building. The Inquisitor lowered his window. Held out a hand and gathered power.
Checking that we aren't plague carriers.
The attention shifted to Axel. He collected power. Murph and Ape did the same.
The nearest Cyborg relaxed, marginally. "Welcome home, Fourth Mentalist. Second wishes to know why you are here."
Holy . . . fourth in line to hold the Gorbachev Chair in the Three Hundred? I hadn't realized he was so high . . .
"To collect news, confirm rumors, and deliver some information that may not be known here."
"Please proceed." He stepped back and Murph drove up to the broad entry. A swarm of servants to open the doors, some of them rather muscular and fit-looking.
They eyed Murph, Ape, and Axel.
The Inquisitor waved the Cyborgs back. "I need Igor. You two stay here."
Two of the muscular types accompanied them, eyes on Axel.
It was an office, not a throne room. Barely. Two men . . . One appeared elderly, the other in his middle years. Axel was not surprised when the Inquisitor bowed to the younger looking one, and followed suit.
Life Extension. I'm surprised they haven't both had it. Or perhaps Grigory’s father waited too long before he tried it. Or just different responses to it.
It was all very formal for a second. Then the older man thumped his desk. "Grigory! What the BLOODY HELL are you doing here!"
The Inquisitor cleared his throat. "Are you aware that the plague is actually a poison, being deliberately introduced into the water system by the Enemy? That it is a nano enzyme that changes the gene that pulls power, disabling it?"
"What!" A chorus.
"They are disseminating two poisons. 'The Plague' to take our power, and another that dissolves the zivvy."
The old men exchanged worried glances.
"Either would end our culture. Together they are going to be devastating." The Inquisitor nodded to Axel. "My agent has experienced several worlds with widespread usage of both. Axel?"
