by Pam Uphoff
Lobo grinned. "Nope. I helped the Fallen set up on Earth, but didn't do anything the other direction. Pity, there'd be circular closure that way, wouldn't there?"
***
Rael looked around the barn. Sixteen men laughing at their boss’s mistakes, bragging at how they’d improved a floor plan . . . She looked over at Xen. “It’s about time to leave.”
He grinned, looked over at the men suddenly looking at them. “So, I’m going to show up blotto and late to the job, get reamed by Monteleon, fired, and my wife is going to come and get me, scolding all the way and swearing to take me back to that miserable desert and keep me there until I swear I’ll never touch another drop. Right?”
He was a bit surprised at how much regret and how little enthusiasm there was to be found in their expressions. “Oh. Yeah. You guys’ll have to do your own shopping and cooking. Good luck!”
***
Fuyl, the Exterior Director's official Princess watchdog was a cheerful older woman. She could have stood to lose weight, and today had her feet in fuzzy pink slippers, elevated on a stool. Even the Director's highly starched and proper secretary didn't dare try to shift her out from underfoot. But she did glare when the old princess wiggled her fingers in greeting and waved Rael on into the Director's inner sanctum.
"All right, Director. That worked like a charm." Rael grinned at his openly relieved expression. "What, having conniption fits while I was gone?"
Director Ajki of Exterior Relations grinned back. "Not me. Urfa. Probably had the President and Paer riding him. I do hope you don't mind being the unofficial adopted daughter."
Rael snickered. "I don't think it's gone that far. Favorite Aunt, maybe, but not big sister."
"So, you have any trouble with Xen Wolfson?"
"Gene Lobo, on Purple. He had an ID, friends, a part time job, a shell company, and a worthless ghost town out in the desert. And tons of enthusiasm. I think he misses being undercover. He enjoyed himself teaching the guys and pulling them into his fake life." She grimaced.
"Did you know it's a felony for a normal or a power to pass themselves off as a Purp? He had to rescue four of the team, including Team Leader Ugho, from the clutches of the criminal court system." Rael leaned back and pondered. "I have a nasty suspicion that if we had planned anything beyond getting into position to watch Earth and Purp relations, he would have found out. And if he didn't like the idea, we'd have been sunk."
"Turned over to the authorities?"
Rael scowled. "I . . . don't think so. Hauled home like strayed puppies by the scruffs of our necks and a lecture applied? Horribly likely. We got a fair amount of that over the hair dye. And expecting to join the elite. I tactfully didn't point out how horribly ignorant he'd been when he came here."
"It's all that princess training. Oozing tact, until you kill someone. Do you think you found out anything useful about Xen?"
"He fit in as naturally and easily as he fit in here. Maybe better, because he'd managed to avoid all notoriety. And his help—involving his property—means that if we betray him, we'll get the chop as well. We have to cover for him, to keep our own cover."
Ajki nodded. "We knew he was good. So that really shouldn't surprise us. Why do you think he helped us?"
Rael grinned. "Ooo! I'm going to tell Fuyl you have no respect for the ability of a Princess to wind a man around her little finger." She sobered. "Actually, I think it's that 'God of Spies' thing. He really connects with spies. I'm not sure but that a memo from you to him about spies in danger wouldn't have had the same effect."
"That is such a weird concept . . . But my agents say it's real, Comet Fall's version of the hive mind."
Rael nodded. "And he's so damned good at infiltration. And Disco apparently has a huge network of spy posts. Most of them unmanned, just Xen popping in, now and then. If there's a world you need to know about . . . well, I can try to get information out of him, but he'll know what world you have targeted."
"Do you really think he'd help us?"
She shrugged. "He gave us a lecture. All about real life on Purple, not the pretty part they let show on Embassy. Plus Disco's take on spying, which I suspect is simply his own take on espionage. That the more info we have on each other, the less likely we'll go all paranoid and start something. Or the earlier on something suspicious can be addressed diplomatically."
"He's probably right. Until he's completely wrong, and in the middle of a war. Huge network, eh? Wonder if it is just him popping in. He keeps recruiting people from various worlds, and they all report massive boredom and lots of training. But he's also got a bunch of kids there. Horseboys and waitresses, except they're there for all the magic, sword, barehanded and firearms training."
Rael snickered. "Horseboy has become a . . . higher status job than anyone could have imagined. It's been what? Six years? And the horseboys here are still teaching each other all the little spells Endi . . . Xen taught them."
The corner of his mouth turned up. "Urfa still refer to him as a miracle?"
"Regularly. I wonder if he'll show up every time I get into trouble?"
Interlude
“Remainder of mission report redacted.
Project terminated 1408yp/1406px/3523ce. Report declassified 1410yp/1408px/3525ce.”
“I’ll bet they made up the hot redheaded girlfriend . . . and pretty much everything else.” Peter sniffed. “That’s almost as ridiculous as the other one. Two days of hard work . . .”
Fyor was shaking her head. “Rael’s famous on the Old One. I’ve never met her, but everyone knows about her.”
“Old One? Is there a New One?”
“Young One. There was a split about fifty years ago. The two One Worlds went off their own directions, with a time differential. So my One World is about eleven years younger than the other One World. Who are a pack of stuck up . . .” She bit her lip. “Well, never mind.”
“Okay . . . so does that have anything to do with the weird names?”
“You mean like ‘Fyor Neartuone Casablanca Morocco?”
“Yeah. Why don’t you explain this Neartuone thing to me over dinner?”
***
“Huh. They’ve got reports from all over. Isn’t it a bit weird that they’d have a report from the Earth’s moles?” Peter frowned at the thin report.
“Definitely weird. But I can see why they’d hand write it, instead of putting it on a computer. If it’s public . . . One! It is! I’ll bet someone’s going to be pissed when they read it.”
Recall
3521 ce Earth Prime
1404 local
With no Oner spies in town they only checked the recordings twice a week. So the burst transmission was two days old before Damien spotted it. He stuck his head out of the trap door to the cellar and suggested that Andrei might want to step down.
Closing the hatch sealed the faraday cage of the basement, rendering their electronics invisible to their opponents. He sent the burst through the decoding process. Uncompacted and deciphered, it was brief.
"Captain Andrei Andrews, Sergeant Damien Malder, Corporal Maxwell Lovett. The Earth is in the process of establishing an embassy in Karista, and reconnecting with marooned personnel. Report your status."
Their eyes met.
"They're going to recall us."
"Maybe . . . they know how old we are." Andrei rubbed her face. "I ought to have retired two decades ago."
"Well, the children are almost grown. No reason we can't go home." Damien heard the doubts all over his voice.
"Other than Jeinah." Captain Andrews smiled wryly. Forty years previously she'd been wholly opposed to one of the moles marrying a Native. Forty years of trading recipes and child care had changed that.
Damien might have never married, but he'd adopted and raised any number of orphans. And then there's Nicole . . .
Had he really only been twenty-six when he'd volunteered to infiltrate this world? He was . . . seventy-eight years old. Andrei was eighty-nine, with an illeg
itimate daughter aged twenty-eight. Max and Jeinah's youngest was twenty-seven. Damien's youngest orphans were seventeen, off now at wizard school. I can’t take them home. I can’t even tell them why I’m leaving. I shouldn't even tell Nicole, even though she knows what I am.
"No reason at all, other than this being home now." Andrei pulled the headset into place. "Captain Andrews reporting. All personnel are in place. I'd judge a 50% chance we've been recognized and are being watched." She sent it through the reverse encoding and compression process and handed the wafer to Damien. "Tomorrow, when you're out of this district."
“You know they know.”
“Of course. But does our command need to know that?”
Damien thought about a few instances . . . “No.”
They shut all the electronics down and climbed back into the kitchen.
"We'll start checking twice a day, now. You might consider what you are going to do about all those pinto horses."
Damien nodded. And paused. How many horses did he have now? Max's youngest kids, Tony and Carl both drove four horse hitches to and from the Gold Country. He, Max, Code, and Heso, Dori's husband, each had a team here in town. Four brood mares and two stallions at the farm. An equal numbers of foals, yearlings, two-year olds and three-year olds. The three year olds would be trained, and if not needed, sold. Thirty-eight? Give or take the sale of youngsters. Oh, and the old retired horses.
He wrote a quick note for Max and Ross, out at the farm. Max, come to town, we need to talk. Ross, time to break in the two year olds. Sell them and the three years olds. D.
He'd get it in the mail tomorrow. By the time Max got here, they'd probably have more information from Command. He paced, giving his reflection in the mirror sideways glances as he passed. He stopped and frowned at himself. A very young and healthy seventy-eight stared back.
"You look fifty, maybe." Andrei spoke from the dark staircase as she walked quietly down. She joined him in front of the mirror. "And I do too. Perhaps if this is our recall . . . I have no family beyond Cordelia and little Andrei. Cordelia was talking about having another child, the last time she was here. I should hate to never see my granddaughter."
"Pepi, Nels and Ivan carry on like they're completely grown up and independent. In fact they're undersized and weedy seventeen year olds. They'll survive my recall, but I'll never see them again. Never see Code and Vani. Or a damned pinto horse."
"We don't know that it's a recall. They could want undercover moles here, still." Andrei didn't meet his eyes in the mirror.
"In which case they'll send some young ones. They aren't going to believe how good a shape we're in. Probably slice and dice us in a lab." Damien sighed. "I'll get an early start tomorrow."
Since he couldn't sleep, it was very early when he turned out. First to the postal office on Commerce street, where he parked long enough to radio the reply and mail the letter. All the Corridors everywhere had speeded mail service unbelievably, Max might well have this by afternoon. He rubbed his team’s foreheads. “Damn, I’m going to miss you guys.” Then he headed for the docks, and caught a ship just in and started hauling crates up to the merchant district. He stopped twice at home, then threw caution to the winds and had lunch with Nicole. He didn't say anything.
Another crate up the hill, and Andrei waved him in when he drove by.
She handed him a slip of paper.
"You are recalled, and due to age will be retired. Well, that's short and sweet."
"They sent directions to the embassy. They said it would be easiest to slide us out of here while they are bringing building materials in regularly. Max just got in a few moments ago. He said he needed to think."
In the end duty held all of them.
Damien had long since incorporated, with various family members owning shares of the business. He wrote out and signed transfers for the portion he still owned, and left them on the dining room table with Andrei's and Max's. Letters to the Trips. Code, shooting them worried looks and getting no answers for their combined glum mood, dropped them off a block from the embassy site, and they walked on in to find their newly appointed superior. Major Robinson sat up and looked them over, took their palm prints.
"You look to be in very good health."
Captain Andrei nodded. "It's their so-called magic, some sort of herbal medicine. It is actually quite effective. However, over forty-four years on station is quite enough."
The next truck headed back—the embassy was apparently trying to wow the Natives with horseless transportation—took them with it, in crisp new uniforms. The Gate to the Embassy World was on a military base at this end, but the Fallen were just waving the Earth trucks through. Embassy was a brief flash of green hills, a large fountain and perhaps half a dozen buildings. Then they drove through another Gate and . . . home.
The old equipment for the Gate they remembered had all been removed. Now there was just a killing ground in front of ranks of permanent Gates. They passed inspection, and another palm print, and got directions to their temporary quarters. Very hotel-like. Andrei across the hall from Damien, and Max two doors down. Damien snorted to see his old stored kit had been delivered. An envelope on the table held all new ID cards. He poked through his old belongings, considered his very few new ones, and finally stayed in the uniform the embassy had supplied while he hunted down some chow. And a cash machine to check his balance.
Andrei and Max beat him to it, and were looking definitely impressed.
"Depends on the cost of living." He scanned his own card. "Old Gods!"
Max snickered. "Somehow I think our slang and cussing is going to be out of date."
"No kidding. Well, why don't we go find out how much a dinner out costs."
Lots. For over cooked vat grown meat devoid of all spices but salt and pepper. The wine was decent, the bread awful. The key lime pie tasted of artificial flavors vaguely resembling lime.
They got together and wrangled over what movie to watch. Cringed over the imbecilic portrayal of Natives, remembered what a laugh track was. They were quiet as they sought their separate beds.
The retirement ceremony was brief, the lists of achievements long enough, but spoken in a bored tones by several officers who clearly didn't remember serving with them. Salutes were exchanged, hands were shaken, papers were signed. Doors were shown.
"So much for ending up in a lab being dissected." Damien followed directions and found an exit and a taxi. "I'm flying to Texas, you guys?"
Max deflated. "The nearest bar."
Andrei eyed him. "I suspect we'll be contacted by the Government for an actual debriefing, and possibly a civilian assignment. Possibly on Comet Fall, so don't do anything silly."
Max nodded. "I checked directories and found someone with my brother's name. I'll call, at a decent hour in New York."
Damien nodded. "My sister's still in business in Amarillo, so I'm going to turn up on her doorstep and try to surprise her."
Fourteen hours later he succeeded.
The old woman who answered the door whooped, dropped her cane and threw her arms around his neck. "Damien. Good god you look good! Terrific in fact. Heavens, and you're only three years younger than I am."
"I can't believe it's been so long. It just whipped by, over there. How about you? How many worlds worth of equines, canines, felines, bovines and all the other -ines have you got on file now?"
"All of them. Or I would if everyone would just stop discovering new worlds. We added humans, and humanoids as well. Actually I'm semi-retired, have a staff of twenty doing all the work now. I send them out with exploration parties to collect samples. Hmm, you looking for a job? Perhaps we should talk about it over dinner."
Apart from the cane and thin white hair, it was like old times. She asked all about Comet Fall, and all the different horse breeds he'd encountered. Got his hand slapped when he admitted that not only had he never terminated her experiment, the stallion had had foals. "The genes were all from there, Hellie, so it didn't m
atter. How much have you heard, about all the things those people can do?"
"Humph. I've heard everything from a magic cure-all to the elixir of eternal youth." Her eyes narrowed suddenly, looking him over.
He reached into a pocket and pulled out one of eighteen hideaways he'd prepared. They hadn't even searched his luggage. He unscrewed the pen's ink cartridge and tipped it suggestively over Helen's wine glass. She raised her eyebrows and nodded. He poured it in, a mix of the Havwee temple water and the elixir of long life.
"Well, I don't know about eternal youth, but they have some great medicines that we ought to import. I wonder if that might not be a good business opportunity? I'll have to look into what import restrictions they're going to put in place."
"Turning down my job offer already?"
"Not really, just speculating. I've been trading and hauling goods for the last forty years, so it comes natural to me now."
"Really, tell me all about it." She sipped her wine and blinked.
He grinned and chattered on as she gasped and fanned herself and eyed him and gripped the edge of the table. "So, Sis, you ever marry? Got a boyfriend you can call over in your moment of extreme need?"
"No and no, and that . . . stuff . . . ought to be illegal."
"Probably is, here." He tapped a few last drops into the bottle. "Von Neumanns, well controlled. Use at your discretion. It heals wounds, even ones that ought to be fatal."
“Oh yes. I remember well freaking out over the sample you sent me, good Lord. Forty years ago! Well, there haven’t been any disasters yet, so perhaps they know what they’re doing.”
After she'd gotten a grip on the unexpected urges, she led him out to her lab. "Almost all computerized now. The younger generation is just spoiled rotten." She swung her cane, pointing at things and absent-mindedly forgot to use it for walking. "We've got over a hundred thousand species on file. Millions of gene maps from hundreds, and sometimes thousands, of Worlds. From a sample of any five animals, from any world we've explored, I can tell you which one they came from. From a single individual, I have an eighty percent chance of pinpointing origin."
