by Pam Uphoff
Another bubble. Open and pin this side, toss it . . . he closed his eyes. Five men, spread out, two walking up on the car. More distantly, a house, dim glows of the people there . . .
The first place the goons will look if they don't find us.
He tossed the end of his incipient corridor fifty feet down the road and into the ditch on the opposite side of the road. Warped light around himself and stepped through. Popped the corridor bubble and took a good look around.
The goons, were climbing out of the ditch and looking around. Staring at the farm house.
Well, this should be fun!
The mid-summer wheat was not as tall as he'd like, but it would have to do.
An illusion of True, then he crouched down and dropped the light warp. Jumped out of the ditch and dived into the wheat, the illusion right on his heels. He bolted through the wheat, bent over. Bullets hit his shield, more missed completely.
He made the illusion flop down, head wound, dead blank stare. Didn't spare the energy to make it last. A few minutes ought to be enough. Kept running.
Ran out of wheat. A fenced pasture. He vaulted over and started running for a small grove of trees.
How far should I draw them before I just disappear? And where do I leave True?
He heard gunshots, but nothing came close. Revving engine noises to his left. A quick glance . . . a distant car on the road. The other direction, a long line of vegetation, maybe two miles away. He reached the tiny grove and got around a tree, out of everyone's sight.
Check the area. Good. Very few people. Just me and the Bad Guys. And True. I should check her ankle . . .
He grabbed a bubble and tossed it at the tree line, a spot with no one around. Stepped in and opened it, slid down a slope, a stream bank, grabbed a little tree, and reached back mentally to check the Baddies. Still in the cow pasture. He popped the bubble corridor, and heaved at the ground a bit to create a flat spot.
Ow, my head! It's time to end this. I ought to have just killed those five goons, although this is an excellent set up for Salazar to disappear.
So long as they don't actually find us again.
He pulled the bubble holding True off his arm and positioned it carefully before he popped it.
She screamed as she thumped down on the ground. Set her teeth and panted
“Sorry, sorry, I thought you were still out cold.” Xen scanned her quickly. Mostly bruises, but the foot . . . He scooted down and touched it gently, to take a detailed look. Lots of crushed bone there, ankle and heel . . . I don’t know how advanced their medical treatment is . . .
He turned away so she wouldn’t see him reach into his bubble to pull out a pocket flask of the Wine of the Gods. “Take a swallow, it’ll dull the pain while I wrap your foot up.”
“Honest to . . . You bloody wino!” But she took the flask.
Xen whipped off his shirt, rolled it up and wrapped the ankle, mentally nudging a few bone chips into place, formed calcium carbonate crystals to hold them in place, sealing some ripped blood vessels. And lied. “Nasty bruises, I don’t know if it’s broken. Don’t put any weight on it unless we get desperate.”
True looked around. “How far did you carry me?”
He flopped down beside her. “I think I used up three decades worth of adrenaline.”
She handed him the flask, and he took a nip. Screwed the lid on.
Then she threw herself on him.
***
“Oh . . . I did not do that!”
Xen winced and pulled his pants up. “Ohhh. I think we did though.” That wine. You’d think I’d know better by now.
“Get. Damn, where are the guns? Oh, never mind carrying me . . .”
“No, no, they’re over here.” Xen scrambled up and around behind the tree and popped the bubble with the guns. He grabbed the rifle and handed it down to her. And the shotgun. Opened her purse and tossed in the boxes of ammo.
Slid back around and handed it to her.
“Oh, you are just a bit resourceful.” She ignored the ammo and grabbed her phone. Tapped . . . “Martin? We were run off the road and . . . well we’re safe now. My ankle . . .”
Xen shot to his feet at the sound of car engines.
“Martin? Are there any police near? I think they’ve found us again . . .” True broke off, staring at the phone. “Damn this thing has a standard locator on it, doesn’t it?”
A yelp from Martin. “It’s highly illegal for a non-governmental . . .”
Xen snatched it out of her hand. “Stay here. I’ll lead them away.” He slid down to the dry edge of the stream bed and started running. The woods on the slope thinned out downstream, the bank dropped and a low bridge crossed, just wood, probably built by some farmer with land on either side.
Too low to go under, he turned up the low bank, loped across as he caught the roar of a car closing in.
Shields!
The car bumped down the track, wide shots missing as Xen leaped off the bridge and sprinted for the trees.
He felt three impacts on his shield, then he was around a large tree and took a quick mental look back. There was True. No one near her.
Excellent.
He pushed away from the tree and kept going.
He led them on for another three miles, until a helicopter roared over, drawing fire from below, and returning it with interest.
Then he dropped the phone. And reached for the old building with the gate . . . and teleported. Staggered tiredly through the gate.
Done.
Three hours and a good meal later, he dressed Salazar’s body in what he was wearing, and dropped the body off in a deep ditch, just outside the police search radius.
Damn. Sorry True. I hope you didn’t care too deeply.
Interlude
“Trained Purple/Earth agents successfully infiltrated in the Empire of the One, 1403px. Project terminated , all personnel recalled 1406yp/1404px. Report declassified 1409yp/1407px.”
Peter slapped the last page down. “I don’t believe a word of it. I think they’re planting a lot of disinformation. Especially that part about Wolfson.”
Fyor looked relieved. “Oh, of course. Duh. I mean, the autopsy? Some flea bitten wino’s body being taken for Xen Wolfson’s? One glance and they’d know they’d been fooled.”
Peter scratched his head. “But fingerprints and retina scans? And they could find relatives and compare the body’s DNA . . . Bet they’re puzzled as all get out.”
Fire snickered. “Then. I’ll bet they’ve figured it out since Embassy was founded.”
Peter grinned. “I wonder if there’s anything somewhere in the stack of reports about a mad battle axe coming after Wolfson’s head.”
Fire bit her lip. “Well, if there is, we’ll find it. Anyway, there’s one report done. What’s next?”
“Break for dinner.” A voice from the hallway. Their employer stuck his head in the doorway. “You guys have been at it all day. Peter, I hadn’t realized you were so new here. I didn’t think to ask if you had a place to stay and any local currency.”
“Umm, I’m camping for now, and no, no money.” Peter stood up, and looked further up.
Xen Wolfson, the guy in the story. Freakishly tall . . . and so are a lot of other guys, around here. It’s weird not being the tallest guy around, it’s as bad as when I met those basketball players.
Peter took the proffered stack of coins, eyeing them curiously.
Wolfson grinned. “There enough gold in there to be worth more or less what they’ll buy here, and little enough to be kind of expensive to meltdown and refine. We still lose them regularly. Silly, since Comet Fall’s perfectly happy to sell ingots. See you tomorrow.”
“Huh. C’mon Rhodan, you’re buying tonight.”
“Right. And tomorrow we can do the next report. It’s about that purple place.”
Planet Purple
Chapter One
Rael snuck into his house. Not easy, given the layered magic shields that cove
red the entire house. Shields, however, had been a specialty of hers.
And a damn good thing she didn’t find him with company in bed.
He reached and pulled her down next to him. He broke off the kiss with every sign of reluctance. "You know Spikey, you keep showing up like this people are going to think that I've either got a girlfriend, or that I work for Urfa."
"You think Urfa deserves an employee like you?"
Xen snorted. "So . . . what is it you're distracting me from this time? Or does Urfa want something from me?"
"Umm . . . "
"Hate to tell you this, but Q and I aren't the only people you need to distract, around here. But my job is stopping cross-dimensional wars, with a sideline of stopping crime. So things like that cavalcade that slid, very neatly, by the way, into Purple, isn't any of my business. I hope."
Rael winced. "Actually, we haven't heard back from them, as planned, and we're getting worried."
Xen eyed her thoughtfully. "You lot are so arrogant, I can see you having trouble fitting in. But it shouldn't have been an immediate disaster unless they did something really stupid like dying their hair purple."
Rael blinked. "Of course they dyed their hair purple. Is it a crime?"
Xen squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Imitating a Purple? Damn straight it's illegal. We'd better go rescue them. The penalty, unless someone will post bond, is enslavement. They auction them off. Big market for prostitutes."
"Good thing they were all men, then."
"Well, no. They castrate the male slaves. The young pretty ones are in high demand." He glanced at the clock. "Midnight in Rel. Good, I'll have time to change. And you should unspike your hair."
Xen didn't change his clothes. He changed his body.
He looked horrible, with the purplish tinge to his hair and skin. And slight changes to his face. Flatter cheekbones, broader nose, heavier jaw. Just enough that he really was not recognizable.
"Thought you said it was illegal? Actually I thought all of them were purple. I take it there's a minority of normal people?" Rael followed him through yet another gate. She'd heard of the maze, but this was her first experience with it. Hopefully her last. He stepped through a corridor. "Faster to collapse," he'd claimed. "In case of angry Oners on our trail."
She followed. Again.
He started talking as soon as she'd stopped wobbling. One Damned shoes! "The Purples are the minority. I have the purple gene, but it's turned off. I just turned it on, and changed about ten percent of my brown pigments to blue or purple or peacock, or whatever you want to call it. Indistinguishable from having started that way, and if they check my genetics, there the genes are." He grinned over at her. "Which is why you remain as one of the 'Halfers' of their society. That is to say, you have the gene insertions and magic, but no purple.
"They're an Exile World, but they didn't have any gods or prophets. Just a high percentage of genetically engineered real humans." He stopped, finally, frowning at a patch of darkness floating in midair.
Rael stopped beside him. There appeared to be the inside of a barn on the other side. "Real humans? Is that Purple?"
"Yes. Is there anyone there?" He caught her surprised blink. "Because I can see the structure and energies of the gate, I can't see through to the other side. Well, if I shut down completely, I can, but since I've got you handy, I'll save myself a headache . . ."
"It looks like an empty barn. It's pretty dark."
"Good." He stepped through, turning to scan the whole barn. "All the experimental genetic engineering was done on laboratory animals, hybrids of several species with eight percent human genes. Ten percent was the legal limit of human derived material allowed in lab animals, back then. Of course, the other ninety-two percent was genes humans have in common with other mammals, and the eight percent was what made humans different, but the test kids passed the legal definition. They were animals, not humans. No matter what they looked like."
"I got all that in lectures." Since you blew everything wide open. "It's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Rael eyed the truck parked to one side of the big building. It looked a lot like the ones the team had taken across.
Xen sauntered over to the truck and raised the bonnet. "I agree. They all looked human, and were generally engineered to be smarter than ninety-nine percent of humans. They can cross-breed with humans, sort of. There are enough fertility problems that one could argue the matter. But, getting back to the subject at hand, the people exiled here were not test kids, they were regular humans with a few fixes and improvements, even a few power genes. So they've got—that I've seen—pretty much the same mix as Comet Fall. Mage, witch, and wizard genes. The social ranking here has evolved into double purps at the top, single purps—only one peacock gene, usually their skin looks almost normal—magic non-purps and then everyone else. Among the Purps, magical are better than norms, but it's the peacock gene that matters the most. People like me—like I look right now—are called Muddies. We're double purps, but we've got so much other pigmentation that we aren't, well, pretty. Clear, beautiful purps with magical abilities are probably less than a percent. All Purps, altogether, magic and non, are probably five percent of the population. Another ten percent or so of the population have enough magic that it's obvious. Their magic training is exclusive to the Purps, and mostly male Purps, at that. So if you feel the need to use it, do something clumsy and brute force. The Purps don't much like the Powers. Except as wives."
Rael eyed the engine. Reasonably recognizable parts, function dictating shapes. Xen's hands were resting on the battery terminals. She could feel some subtle magic, couldn't identify it. Other than by context. She looked away, pretending there wasn't anything unusual in the ability to charge batteries magically. "But I've seen Purps with black hair, just a purple, almost iridescent, sheen to it."
"Yep. Pretty. Therefore high class. The room to the left has clothes that will probably fit you. Fortunately ID is very basic, here, so I can fix you up with some. Then we'll get some news, see if we can find your strayed lambs."
"No hurry, huh?"
"Well, they hold court mid-mornings—judges don't rise early—so it's either too late or we have a couple of hours to bail any of your people who're in trouble."
The room to the left held the usual furniture. A wardrobe supplied clothes—she went for something as close to business-like as the crinkly natural fiber clothing would allow. She bit her lip and changed even her undergarments.
Xen had abandoned the truck and emerged from the middle room dressed in heavy fabrics, work clothes, she'd have classified them, at home. He handed her a folded piece of paper. "Memorize the details, stick it in your purse. Umm." He detoured into the left room and grabbed a fabric sack, fished through it and removed some papers.
"I'm afraid to ask whose clothes I'm wearing."
He grinned. "Q's. Never fear, she's not possessive. Stick your papers in here." He handed over the bag then opened the barn doors, and walked back to the truck. "Now, keep in mind that there are plenty of magic users around—so you can't yell. Can you subtly contact any of your people?"
"If we are close enough. We, umm, have done a bit of poking at the Purps on Embassy. We can talk without them knowing." She frowned as Xen's dimples deepened. "What?"
"Nothing . . . So, a mile or so. Close the barn door behind the truck, and let's see if we can find your team."
The barn was surrounded by a rundown neighborhood, in what she finally decided must be an old part of the city, that newer and nicer developments had leapfrogged over. Sort of like the part of Le Havre his team settled in, when they were spying on the One World. Maybe we should ask him to teach lessons in infiltration.
She split her attention between the city and her paperwork. The single sheet declared her to be Term-wife Sophi Lobo, nee Rainbow. With a "home territory" of Ellaiha, and residing at 2368W 13978S, Rel, Meric.
"What's your name?"
"Gene Lobo, Lord of Ellaiha, currently living at th
at same address, which is the barn."
"Lord?"
"That means I own it. It's a shabby ghost town, formerly a small mining town, abandoned when the local ore veins gave out. We're dirt poor, wife. But you want your kids to be Purps, and I'm hoping they'll be a nice clear purple."
"Term-wife?"
"If the kids aren't good enough, I'll dump you."
Rael eyed him. "Am I allowed to protest?"
"Hell yes. In fact, if you're an absolute shrew, you'll fit right into this place."
"Yikes."
He grinned. "For now, we're newlyweds. After I get you pregnant, you'll be apprehensive. Lousy medical care, lots of maternal deaths. And if you don't get pregnant, you know I'll dump you, like trash, and no one else will want you. Used goods."
She choked.
"Very cautiously, see if you can find any of your guys. We're close to the City lockup, but they may be getting dosed with something to suppress their magic."
***
Okko, better known as Kook, couldn't even look at breakfast. He hadn't eaten dinner either. Pity I can't starve to death before noon.
:: I presume that means you're going before the judge this morning? ::
The telepathy had the unmistakable flavor of a Princess.
He sat bolt upright in the bunk, hitting his shaven head on the one over head.
:: Quiet! Reach way down low. ::
He mentally followed the "voice" down to a low frequency. :: Can you get us out of here? ::
:: Yes. Tell the jailer you want to call your brother-in-law. Your sister's name is Sophi Lobo. This is the number you will punch in . . . or dial. We are close. How many of you are there? ::
:: Four of us. The others are laying low. I hope. ::
:: Ugho? ::
:: Here. Can't you talk to him? ::
:: No. They're putting something similar to methalformalin in your food. Now, go yell for the jailer. ::
