by Pam Uphoff
"Oh."
"Well, that's how I'm betting. How . . ." He broke off and pulled out his phone. "Axel . . . Really?"
The man's grin broadened. "Cows? Lots of cows? Hot Damn. I didn't think they'd back down. Yeah. I'll go take a look."
Forty-one frowned. "I didn't think there were many cows here."
Lord Axel raised his brows. "I didn't know there were any. So . . . I have acquired some."
Forty-one looked baffled. "Why?"
"Because of the plague. If portal travel is shut down . . . well, there's those big hares, field mice . . . there's fish in the oceans, not that hardly anyone ever goes fishing. And we raise some of our fresh vegetables. But right now? If they closed the portals tomorrow, we'd be in deep trouble."
Forty-one nodded slowly. "I guess, I never quite realized . . . I grew up on a farm on Novaya Moskva, and now my parents operate their owner’s hobby farm west of the city proper . . . Where are you putting your cows?"
"Two hundred miles southwest. I'd like to have feral herds before we find ourselves cut off, but I suspect I'm ten years too late for that." The Lord eyed the Cyborg. "Can I persuade you to come take a look at my cows and give me an opinion? And you too, Senior Detective. Think of all the questions you two can ask me, over several hours travel."
Vlad looked at Forty-one who grinned. "I have a police car. They have pretty good suspension, even though they aren't really off-road vehicles."
"Right. First stop, my place, for a change of clothes."
Vlad looked down at his own suit. "Good plan."
***
By the time he'd changed, convinced Dina that she couldn't come, and walked next door, Axel was cursing and hauling a large red duffle bag down the stairs.
Vlad raised a brow at the white cross of a medical kit.
"My cows are not healthy." He thumped the bag down and galloped down the stairs to the garage and returned with a . . . bottle of wine?
Forty-one eyed the wine dubiously. "Symptoms?"
"They're limping, lying down, and drooling, some bloody drool."
"Hoof and Mouth." Forty-one shook his head. "So much for your cows."
"It's fatal? Is it human contagious?"
"Not human contagious, yes very contagious for most hooved animals—not horses, but goats and sheep and so forth. Around ten percent fatality rate, but it is very debilitating, and highly contagious. So slaughtering everything that has it is the best option to prevent . . . well, there aren't other cattle here, but . . ."
"But we'll find out. And in case of us being cut off, eating a debilitated cow beats starving. So let's go see how bad it is and whether," he shoved the wine bottle into the medical kit, "I'm going to dose them with a hodgepodge of healing impressions or not."
"Really?"
"Yeah. In a wine base. And . . . a couple hundred miles from nowhere . . . let's stop before we're out of town and I'll load up on cheap wine. Just in case."
"And bleach." Forty-one put in. "You'll need to disinfect everything."
"God alone knows what I'll do with this horrible stuff if I don't use it on the cows." Axel put the last box of wine in the trunk and Forty-one shut it.
Then they settled back for a long drive through featureless hills, and Axel told them all about life with the Vinogradovs. It did not sound pleasant. And his own routine. "Which has gone to hell these last few days. Run four laps around the gardens, then down to the basement to lift weights. I'd run into Andre or Nikoli occasionally and we'd do a bit of courtball, or fencing. Then shower, breakfast, and, having in one meal had all I could stand of the family, I'd pop off, ahem, somewhere. If I was lucky, for days. And miss lunch and dinner as often as possible.
"So you're . . . usually not chasing women. But you stay at your house?"
"Usually just overnight. Settle my reflexes back down to . . . civilian normal."
"I thought the Mentalists who worked with the Military Cyborg teams . . . stuck to mentalist . . . actions."
"It varies a lot. Very . . . it takes individual talents into account. And I'm not actually supposed to talk about it."
"Of course." Vlad frowned. "Wait a bit . . . if you're fifty . . . so you're older than your team?"
"That's pretty standard, you know, wise old mentalist and all that. I started out a lot younger than most Team Mentalists. And the Team is actually getting pretty old for the stuff we very rarely need to do."
Forty-one stopped at the top of a hill. "Found your cows."
There were a lot of cows. Not the black-and-white he'd thought was standard . . . well, there were some. But brown, ranging from light to dark reddish, was most common. Some solid black, some white with black speckles, red with white markings . . . The more he looked, the more colors he spotted. Thousands of them, at least half lying down.
And watchers. A Cyborg drove over, eyed the cops. “Nothing for the last hour, ahh . . .” another glance at the cops, “so we’re done here and taking everything away.” A wave and he and the other two loaded a few things into another ATV and they were gone.
"Right. Well." Axel surveyed his herd. "First, a couple of samples for the lab, then I'll test my stuff on some . . . not that I expect instant results or anything . . ."
Forty-one drove down closer before parking. "How many cows were you expecting?"
"Three thousand. Twenty-five hundred cows, five hundred bulls."
Vlad started laughing. "And you know nothing about cows?"
"Not a damn thing. Now. Forty-one. For reasons I am not going to discuss, you are not going to have any contact with this medicine I am using. Let's go get some swabs."
The swabs were easy, as the cows were not feeling like getting up.
"These two have been getting handled regularly." Forty-one looked over the broad swath of sick cows. "I hope a significant number of the rest have, because they aren't hurting badly enough to not demonstrate how much they outweigh you by, if they don't like people."
Axel just laughed. "No one, absolutely no one who knows me is going to believe what I'm going to spend the day or three actually doing."
They spent the day with Axel squirting a teaspoon or so into the mouths of cows that Forty-one frequently had to wrestle with, while Vlad doped up and carried boxes of wine.
After the first bull, Axel stunned them, then dosed them.
No idea how many they missed. Or double dosed. But the first ones dosed were standing up and grazing before they were half through.
They ran out of wine about the time they were pretty sure they'd gotten most of the critters. Stopped long enough to incinerate everything and disinfect their shoes and give up and ride home to wash everything with lots of bleach. And shower.
Vlad spent some time thinking, and sent out enquiries about everyone who wasn't a child of the house, who might have had special training before he or she was bought.
And he needed to think about storing water. Non perishables. Wine . . . he had taken a tiny sample of Axel's potion.
Probably illegal. But if we're isolated, a potion that can cure damn near anything would be really nice to have around.
Chapter Fifteen
Research
Tuesday, November 20, 3738
"I've been thinking."
Axel paused as the Inquisitor pinched the bridge of his nose.
"That's always a bad sign."
"Ah . . . about that zivvy dissolver. What effect would it have on people with bad grow-ins?"
"So cows aren't enough of a hobby, you have to get into research like your mother?" He glowered at Axel, but his eyes were getting thoughtful.
Which could be good, or bad.
The man finally picked up the phone and tapped at it. "Do you still have any of that sample of the zivvy dissolver? . . . Oh? Right. I'm authorizing an experiment using it. How does salt brine affect it? We may need containment measures . . . In that case send a sample to my office."
He eyed Axel. "Like the Plague, it breaks down quickly in salt water, so any exp
eriments you run need to be away from the City watershed, and preferably close to one of the salt lakes. Especially since it's a von Neumann's nano factory."
Axel sat back and thought about it.
"Salt water. Definitely." He nodded and checked a map. Heading east from his cows to the salt lake they called the Eastern Mediterranean. "Actually there’s sort of a road, or there was once, should be bridges over streams, at least. And out at the far end we’d have plenty of space from future neighbors . . . This spot is above the spring floods and a steep slope down to very salty water. Any contamination," he held up a finger, "not that I won't be trying to avoid spills, but I'll be working with not-very-bright subjects. The location, a hundred and thirty miles from anywhere and sloped to the salt water as secondary precautions."
He bit his lip. "I was thinking I'd start with no more than four to six subjects . . . Did the lab do any experiments to determine how long it takes for the dissolver to clear their system? No? Right. Then my first batch I'll use to test the effects of the dissolver, the detection of the dissolver in blood and bodily excretions and find out how long I need to isolate . . . patients."
He looked back at his application, "Umm, is there an official designation for this stuff?"
"NFS-ZD-1."
Axel tapped that into the appropriate spots and hit the submit button.
Pulled up the list for the "parking lot" where previously used vehicles, equipment were parked for future use and . . . Yes! Used portable field offices and housing.
What sort of staff will I need? Cook, Janitor, Handyman . . . Medic?
If I choose my first subjects carefully, I can put them to work . . . but where to find someone with enough medical training to test and monitor the subjects?
***
By the time he headed home, he had a budget, a hundred-year lease on four sections, work orders out for moving the field housing, a field kitchen and mess, a field lab, offices, drilling a water well, class four sewage treatment, remote power plant . . . He outright bought a moderately large all-terrain vehicle and drove it home.
Lists of things to do, that didn't have anything to do with Dear Uncle's mess. He could leave that all to the experts going through everything.
And then I'll find out if there's anything more we need to do about the mercenaries, Budapest Reborn, the poison that is destroying the Alliance . . .
The Alliance is dead. Only the 300's monopoly on zivvy manufacture held us together in a squabbling whole.
The fatal blow has fallen, and all we can do is prepare as best we can for when the giant hits the ground and there are a thousand or more Worlds in a panic, and a quarter of them probably still with Portals.
Will they trade or attack? Or just become self sufficient and learn to live without chipping ninety percent of the population and destroying their intelligence.
Heh. And maybe stop treating them like slaves. Treating? They are slaves. But maybe without zivvy . . .
He snorted. "Well, a man can dream."
He parked in the driveway. Note to self, go find the remote for the garage door opener.
Spotted Dina and waved, then headed for the door. Heard the locks click. Good. The new watch works.
He glanced back at Dina, trotting up, her parents behind her. All three looking upset.
Uh Oh. He stepped inside waffling over which security code to use . . . "Home Again. What fun."
This may be something I don't want recorded.
"C'mon in. What's wrong?"
He closed the door behind them. Eyed Dina. Pale and teary.
"I can feel it creeping into my brain again."
"Oh . . . it's been four days? Five?" Three days, they said, to dissolve a Cyborg’s zivvy to the point they could defy mentalist orders. But they didn't say what happened after that. I assume they still had enough zivvy wires to operate the arm . . .
"I . . . really ought not experiment on the neighbors." He looked down at the beautiful woman . . . feeling her intelligence being eaten . . . again. That utterly unlimited joy when she realized she could read again . . .
Her mother was all big eyed and desperate. Mitty looked fierce.
"Oh damn. One of these days I'm going to be in so much trouble. Why don't you all sit down and I'll be right back."
Axel grabbed a glass and headed upstairs.
Twenty days will dissolve the chip, they said. So . . . shit, we'll start with one week. His gut clenched. And what if I get her killed, for circumventing the law. What if this stuff kills her?
He poured half a glass of the wine and headed back down. They were sitting stiffly at the dining room table
"Listen, I've applied for a permit to research some odd stuff that might address Dina's problem. But right now, we have no idea what it might do, in terms of side effects, or long term effects." He set the glass down and shook his head as she reached for it. "Wait a minute."
Down to grab a bottle of red wine.
Back up to where the trio were all focused on the glass
A funnel to pour a few drops into the wine bottle, and feel the impressions flooding the whole. He screwed the lid back on. "The stuff I'm going to research has one rather obvious and amusing side effect. There's probably a risk of it being used to umm . . . garner affection." He pushed the glass over to Dina.
The first swallow had her eyes widening, she finished it with another, then stumbled around the table to launch herself at Axel. He hugged her, then set her firmly on her feet.
"So I suspect you police types won't thank me if this ever gets out to the street." He disengaged Dina again. "I'm hoping that just one dose a day for a few days," he held up seven fingers, "will take care of the problem permanently. Which is one of the things I'll be researching."
He handed the bottle to Mitty, and the daughter to her mother.
"I'll keep you up to date, as the research progresses."
He got them out the door before he started grabbing Dina back. I think I got a micro dose through a kiss. Or dosing those damned cows. Am I insane loosing that stuff on an unsuspecting populace?
I need to analyze all those impressions, and then utilize them in combinations . . . hopefully without the aphrodisiac. The anti-parasite impressions seem likely as identifiers, and the healing impressions after, but what is actually deconstructing the zivvy?
Right now, though, I suppose I ought to head for the big house and see what's going on there.
But I think I’ll get a good night’s sleep first . . . and make sure that little bit of wine has worn off.
Chapter Sixteen
Offices and Homes
Wednesday, November 21, 3738
"This is such a weird feeling." Natasha leaned back from the computer. "I mean, legally we're still not free."
Dimitri nodded. "But Lord Axel is just . . . turning us loose with an awful lot of spending authority."
Barf nodded. "AIV Enterprises. Established . . . yesterday. With lots of money in the bank that we can spend."
"W-wisely, else th-that'll be the l-last time we get any." Pauli grinned. "S-so n-no sports cars."
"Yeah, and wow! Has turning fifty changed what that man lets show. I'm not sure Lord Axel actually wants a house full of servants, so maybe we ought to look at things like this." She turned the screen to show them what she'd been looking at. "This is about two miles away, and down a tier from his house. These houses are being used as businesses, but the owner still lives in the upstairs parts."
"Are you thinking about actually buying another house?" Dimitri frowned at the street scene. "And those are right near some new commercial buildings."
"I know, but I don't think Axel actually has a walk-in business in mind. I guess I'd better ask him. See this house? They painted it up nice, but it needs modernization. For the same square footage . . . we could lease this place—reception, three offices, lavatory, and a big workshop or warehouse space. Non-residential, and the lease is comparable to the mortgage on the cliff house."
Barf g
rinned. "We should look them over in person, so as to give a proper report to Lord Axel."
Natasha grinned. "Road Trip!"
"A-autocab p-pulling up." Pauli leaned to look downward. "It's L-lord Axel. L-let's go see wh-what he says wh-when he sees his office."
Natasha stuffed her knuckles in her mouth as Lord Axel stopped dead and stared.
His office was full of towels.
Stuffed. Bursting out.
"Howlingly funny." The man poked at the doorway. "Surely they aren't all Dear Uncle's personal towels?"
Stifled snickers from the other Rangers.
An apprehensive Anya nodded, twitched. "He didn't like . . . old things. Any little dangling thread and they got tossed in a room . . . We washed them and folded them and put them back. I guess we know why he kept them now." Her hands twitched with a need to straighten it all out.
"Well, as you have time . . . Miss Anya? Are you all right?" Axel was turning to study her.
"Yes, master, I just need to clean it all." Twitch.
"Need . . . Anya look at me." Axel lowered his own shields a bit and "looked" mentally at the old woman.
Natasha lowered her shields to incoming and caught him analyzing Anya.
A light command to not clean the large dining hall until . . . ah, Vlad must have had trouble keeping the scene undisturbed . . .
Natasha shivered at the strength she could see as he lowered his shields just a bit and disposed of that one and blinked at the strength of the compulsion under it. Clean, clean, clean, everything must be clean right now.
And Lord Axel worked his way into that one, strong, but delicate. Careful as he softened the controlling parts of the Impressions, slowly faded them out completely and removed the whole.
Anya swayed, and Natasha grabbed her elbow, steered her over to Nikoli's office, sat her down in a chair.
