by Pam Uphoff
Axel wiped his hand, then led him over to the sink and washed it thoroughly with soap. The kids crowded around and watched in fascination as the cut closed up on healthy looking flesh, the red streaks already gone . . .
"What this stuff is, is a couple hundred healing impressions and . . . some other stuff." Axel waited until the kids all looked back at the partly drunk glass of wine.
Bandage boy looked up from his hand. "What stuff?"
"Pain killer plus you'll feel pretty lusty for a few days. And . . . it dissolves zivvy wires."
They froze. Staring at him.
"You have to do it right though. This is what you do for a servant chip. Half a cup a day for seven days. Then absolutely no alcohol for three weeks. The seven days dissolves the wires. But it runs on alcohol. You keep feeding it, and it'll attack the chip, and then you're in trouble. Seven days, then stop, and the chip still reads normal. You'll have your Mentalist talent back, your smarts. But the chip will read like it’s working."
"Now Cyborgs . . . three days, maximum, else they may lose use of the arm. But they'll be harder to control, after that. I don't know about wife chips. I suspect they're the same as the servant chips. They can get back their magic."
The leader took a deep breath. "How much do you have?"
Axel shook his head. "It's a von Neumann's potion. Do you know what that is? Good. Take this," he handed over a cash card, "and the rest of this bottle. Dope up a bunch of wine. Give it to those who need it, charge those who can pay. And keep it quiet, because when the authorities find out about it, it will become illegal."
He shooed them out, and locked up. Turned out the lights and slept until much later in the morning.
The second portal was just begging to be raided. And the portalmaker was young and in pain.
:: One more week. Help will come. ::
Axel drove back to the warehouse and fiddled with the Car ID so he could get into the car park of the big factory across the street from portal two, and for good measures, two other false IDs as well.
He slept fitfully through the nightmares.
The third portal was manned by another elderly portalmaker, hardly worth the risk of killing, let alone kidnapping. But the architecture was "interesting."
The steel cube and panel architecture that he was much too familiar with, with the portal facilities at one end . . . and a museum at the other? He walked cautiously over to read the sign . . .
Drei Mächte Bündniss World Headquarters
Construction started the first year that Stuttgart had been
discovered, built on the ruins of the native buildings flattened
during the first stages of the invasion
The World was named Stuttgart after the beloved home of
the Great Leader
I think I'll barf. This is where it all started, attacking late industrial, early electronic age Worlds and taking . . . instead of colonizing Worlds with no people and building. Creating.
The security system and locks on the side door were no doubt adequate for the local hoodlums, but yielded quickly to Axel. He slipped quietly deep into the "preserved in pristine historical condition" . . . crap he had to deal with at home. He trotted past displays and beyond the offices staffed with appropriately dressed mannequins and into the Great Leader's private chambers, where he found the door to the working part of the complex.
So to speak. He had to shift boxes and a metal shelf unit that were blocking the doorway on the other side. One direction, the quiet dark offices of the bureaucrats . . . oh. The payroll department?
Axel suppressed a desire to give everyone a giant pay raise and went the other direction . . . to the security offices. Peeking around a corner and hearing people through the first door down the hall . . . He eased up to take a look.
Two bored officers. ". . . call themselves the Merry Widows. Makes you wonder what their husbands really died of."
A snort from the man behind the desk. "Hardly matters, they'll be dead as soon as the doctor gets here in the morning."
"Ach! Experimenting! Times have changed—forever." He shrugged and started toward the door. "Not that much will change for us."
Heh. A wise man. Assuming he survives the rest of this year.
Axel backpedaled hastily, and ducked around the corner, the sound of boots on the hard floor, fading.
Axel let the man get well out of sight before he reached out and gently fogged the desk man's mind.
And bingo! The other side of the desk was full of lights and controls, a clear plas door behind him opened to the tap of the Desk Man's ID, and Axel took a quick look down the row of cells. The first big cell was the only one occupied.
The four women were slumped. Tired. Hopeless. One had gray threaded through her hair, and the lines of experience on her face. The other three were younger, late twenties or thirties, perhaps. One of them spotted him, despite the camosuit and nudged the woman next to her.
Axel glanced back at Desk Man and had him open the women's cell.
"Would you ladies like to get out of here?"
Easiest escape ever. Desk Man programmed the outside cams to record and loop. The Ladies followed directions. So they walked out through the museum, and all they had to do was wait until a patrol vehicle was past, and fiddle the back gate locks and alarms. A short hike to the car.
He drove off down side streets before he turned his headlights back on.
"I've got to say I'm really impressed that you ladies really did stay quiet. I'm Igor, and I'll be leaving the city in six days. You are welcome to come along, or if you have a safe place to go to, I'll drive you there."
Uncertain glances and head shakes among them.
"Or stay for a few days and think about it. I'm a fan of planning, myself." He paused. "Umm, if you aren't comfortable giving me your names . . . just think up something you'd like to answer to."
A turn and a short block to the highway. He got off one exit late, and back tracked to the warehouse.
He was frowning as he pulled into the warehouse.
"Ladies? Can you speak?"
Silence.
He got out of the car, and they did the same, looking around at the uninformative space.
"Nod if you understand me." Four nods. "Mentalist compulsion? No? Physical?" Uncertain nods. The oldest mimed drinking.
"Chemical."
Nods.
"Right . . . well, this will be interesting." He walked over to the work table. "Each of you take a small sip of this. Sorry, but I wasn't really expecting to have company and I've only got four glasses and this is the last clean one . . ."
"This stuff has a terrifying number of healing impressions, and I hope it's just a side effect, not something anyone put in on purpose . . . but it's got an aphrodisiac impression that'll knock your socks off."
The older woman snorted.
"Yeah. So, just exert some control, and don't be offended if I reject you, but I have a young woman I'd like to go home to with a clear conscience. Well, clear of that particular misdeed."
He poured half a glass and handed it to the oldest.
She took a mouthful and passed it on, as her eyes widened and her breath caught. She eyed him hungrily, blushed and stepped back. "Holy . . . I can talk!"
In minutes there were four of them jabbering away, one of them crying, all of them watching him and variously blushing, licking their lips, reaching and then snatching their hands back.
"It's just an effect of the potion. Just take a deep breath and keep telling yourself it's just chemistry. Right?"
They seemed to be getting a grip, so he relaxed.
"Well, let's try this again. Hi, I'm Igor, which isn't actually my name. How about some nicknames for your four?"
The oldest nodded. "Blondie."
"Schüchtern."
"Krümel."
"Hallo Du?"
Hey you? Axel grinned, and they all leaned toward him. He got his face under control.
"Well. The magic
potion strikes again. If it works like it has so far, you're going to have horrible hangovers in the morning. So I suggest a light dinner." He looked dubiously over at the stuff on the sink counter. "Did I mention I wasn't expecting guests for a day or two?"
Over crackers and cheese they told him all about it.
"They thought that the wife chips would have used the least amount of the zivvy." Blondie frowned at him. "The zivvy comes in small pods. One per chip. Cyborg and Exec plates have two chips, but very good control of where the wires go. Everything else gets one chip. They thought the lower number of zivvy wires getting more zivvy the second day would mean there was a larger unused reserve in wife chips than servant chips."
Axel boggled. "Were they going to remove your chips for that unused zivvy?"
"Yes." A casual wave of her hand. "Carefully, to not spill any."
Krümel, was that small crumb? The short one nodded. "They didn't think we were likely to survive . . . and since we'd be unchipped, they'd be sure of it."
"We're all widows, you see." Hallo Du grimaced. "My husband owned a store. I managed it for him, he was very old, and after he died, it all became the property of the state, as did I. But the details take time and I continued to run the shop without him for some time."
Nods around the table.
"My husband was a doctor. I took over the billing, the supplies, the staff. I kept doing it for the junior partners while they tried to figure out how to buy the clinic back from the state. They could not afford me, as well." Blondie shrugged, looked away.
Shy nodded. "Bertram had no relatives within three degrees, so the state took the restaurant and me."
"So we were to be their first experiment." Hallo Du shivered. "They thought perhaps with four used wife chips they could get enough zivvy to wire up a portalmaker."
"So is their Cybernetics Center in that same old building?"
"One of the eighteen, at least one each on every continent, in the megaplexes."
"Ah. Of course." Axel eyed them. "You know, with your business acumen, I'd really like all of you to come with me."
They eyed him thoughtfully . . . or maybe suspiciously.
"I'm an abolitionist. Legally I can't free you. In practice, I can let you go your own way, and with financial backing. I hadn't thought about stores and restaurants, but someone who knows the business side of a medical clinic? Blondie, I will try to persuade you to work for me. And I suspect you others as well."
"But right now, I need to sleep, because I've got to go out again tomorrow night for my last survey." He looked around. "Hmm. Maybe I'll sleep in the car. There are two mattresses in one of the front offices . . . a couple of chairs . . . hmm. I'll go shopping pretty soon."
They were looking exhausted, and thankful he'd brought up the subject.
He washed all the glasses, slugged his dose of the wine, then cranked back the front passenger seat of the car and slept like a log. Woke around noon to the sound of retching.
Right on schedule.
He walked around dispensing anti-nausea, and anti-hangover impressions and made them drink water.
"I'm going to go shopping. Relax, stay inside." He bit his lip then got out his computer and hunted for TV broadcasts . . . yeah, standard here too.
"Channel Five, for the news." Blondie slumped down in one of the reception area chairs. "I hope they aren't looking for your pretty car."
"Umm, good thought. I'll take the truck." He paused as the iconic picture of Siberia Max—the massif silhouetted against the sunset, with the lights of the city around its base—popped up on the screen.
"Negotiations of the terms of annexing Siberia Max are proceeding, and we expect access to their zivvy supplies by next week. In other news, contact with Tier Two Bismarck has cut off, with a report of their third Plague victim."
Axel shook his head. "Damn."
I wonder if the Enemy is still spreading the Plague, or if this is something left over, something, a canned drink perhaps, imported from somewhere else. I swear I need to be paranoid about everything.
He glanced at the time. The days are getting longer, but it's still dark until . . . I'll need to park to the west of Number Four Portal when I snatch their portalmaker. They quit at six in the morning, about right for making the guards look into the rising sun by the time I'm trying to get him across the grounds in the long shadows of the tall buildings.
The other young one turns off at ten . . . I wonder if I can get him out before the alarm goes out?
He shook his head at the screen. "I should be back in a couple of hours."
Since he had the truck, he started with four mattresses. A table with six chairs, some assembly required.
A medium sized TV, to keep the ladies happy for the next five days.
Clothes. No effing idea what sizes to buy. He got stretchy stuff, t-shirts, packets of undies and socks, and hoped for the best. Loaded up on groceries.
Unloaded everything but two of the mattresses.
The ladies were delighted, and tactfully suggested more glasses, plates, and flatware.
"A small refrigerator and an electric skillet would be nice." Shy gave him the big eyed treatment.
Blondie sighed. "Towels and washcloths? I'd kill for a shower, but any application of hot water would be nice."
Dear God! Am I going to wind up with them staying here? They don't have any money, can't work with the police no doubt looking for them.
"Right. I'll be back."
The megastore had everything. And when he got back he found the garage door wide open and the boys he'd given the wine to, and two other young men, busily assembling the table and chairs.
He winced, but backed halfway in so they could unload without exposing four wanted women to too much of the great outdoors.
"Das ist m'bruder." The boy with the cut hand waved at a young man standing up.
"I insisted he bring me. I spent the last year and a half sitting in a corner drooling. If there is anything you need, anything, I am at your disposal."
"Well, I'll be leaving in a week. I don't know when—or if—I'll be back." He eyed the group of young men. "I need this warehouse kept emptyish, but if you could come and go often enough that it doesn't look abandoned I'd appreciate it."
He eyed the younger brother. "And if Scar here, and his friends, need a place to manufacture that medicinal wine, this'll work."
The other man stood up. Alarms went off in Axel's head. Police.
"We wanted to help you, but it sounds like you're helping us."
"Sounds like. That wine? It's going to change the whole Alliance . . . whatever's left of it. And in my opinion, for the good."
The cop nodded. "Yeah." He touched his head. "I had a serious head injury. Medically retired, with a pension that barely covered my Mom feeding me. Now? Damn. Everything has changed again."
"What are you going to do about it?"
"That kind of depends on who you are. What you are."
Axel straightened and lowered his shield enough that the cop could see that everything he said was true. Might have overdone it, the man took a step back, paling. "I am an Agent of Alliance Security, investigating a complaint from Siberia Max that Stuttgart has invaded them.
"In five days I'll be shifting over to Siberia Max and observing this so-called invasion, and the local response to it." He shrugged. "While I'm here, I'm dispensing a healing potion, which admittedly has a few unwanted side effects. The advantages far outweigh the negatives in this very difficult time. And may ameliorate the harm from being cut off from other medical assistance." He closed up his shield. "Sorry, I'm a bit pissed to find medical care rationed already. A tier two world should do better than this for its people."
The cop nodded toward the women.
Axel let his voice chill. "And now I find that your government gives the strong appearance of experimenting with zivvy. I shall be mentioning this to the Inquisitors."
The cop took another step back. "Yeah, they told me . . . Chr
istus . . ."
"Indeed. Hopefully your government will back away from this mis-step. I'll be monitoring them for the next few days. And, as I say, leaving in a few days. I would like you gentlemen to stay away for two weeks, then you can use the warehouse however you wish. Once I have reported in, I may return. Or my superiors will. And they won't be covert. At. All."
He led them to his computer, signed the two men onto the lease, and tapped the terms. "I've paid a year in advance and deposit. If I don't return, feel free to extend the lease, or not. It's of no matter to me or mine."
Shy had taken over the short counter beside the industrial sink and shortly fed everyone. Then Axel kicked out the male contingent. "Come back in two weeks."
He looked at the women who were back to eyeing him warily.
"On Siberia Max, rather than being wanted criminals, you will . . . well, I suppose by right of theft, be mine. While I do not approve of anyone being property, I'm as trapped by the laws as you are. But I will find you a place to live and you can work as you like."
He eyed the women. "It beats being a wanted criminal here. I think. Go or stay. It really is entirely up to you."
And I need to get back to disabling Portals, and get home before everything goes hot back home.
I hope it's not too late already.
Chapter Forty-eight
Extenuating Circumstances
Saturday, December 14, 3739
The Cyborgs were quite thoroughly dead.
"They grabbed the cashier when she said they had to pay, and just, just, hit her, and then they ripped her panties and were going to rape her right there . . . well, something just snapped and . . . then everyone . . ."
Vlad looked around the sporting goods store. Bad place to demonstrate that you can do anything you feel like. Looks like everything from bats, several golf clubs, an oar, and that weight bar with hundred and fifty pounds on it . . . has persuaded you that you were wrong. Or might have, had either of you survived.
