by Pam Uphoff
“Really?” Fire leaned over the seat and pointed. “I see a circle of desert. What do you see?”
“A white vortex. All the between-world portals, the gates, are like sparkly white whirlpools. The place-to-placers are just thick fog. If I squint real hard I can sort of see big fuzzy shapes . . . if there’s anything there.”
Xen grinned. “So I’ve been paying to transcribe reports when I ought to have been training you to make gates? Actually, you need a pot load of basics, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I . . . it’s . . . my world is very prejudiced. Against genetic engineering. Most of the Genies didn’t have children, and, well . . . there’s only six still alive and probably less than twenty descendants altogether. Grandmother’s only got mom and me.”
“Really? You know them all?”
“They keep in touch. Get together occasionally for dinner and holidays.” Peters shrugged. “I haven’t seen anyone but Grandmother for years.”
Fire gave a muffled squeak in his ear. “You should bring them here! Everyone on One, my One would love to have them! Us magic users are the Elite, not, not, a suppressed minority.”
Peter turned his head far enough to see her bright-eyes and gleeful grin, and couldn’t stop grinning himself. “I’ll call and talk to Mom,” he clutched the seat and braced himself as they dived into another gate, “as soon as we stop somewhere.” He pointed at the far right corridor, and Rael swung the ute around to take aim at it.
***
Two gates later she slammed on the brakes. Men in camo, aiming rifles their direction . . .
Wolfson swung out of the ute. “Good evening . . .” he glanced up at the bright sky, “Or whatever time it is here. I am Xen Wolfson . . .”
A soldier fired. A bright spot in midair surrounded by a wave of sparkles, quickly dying out.
A force field? Magic shield? Holy cats. Peter swallowed. I need this. I need to learn, to be free to see what I am capable of.
“Of the Department of Interdimensional Security and Cooperation. I think I need to talk to your superior officer about a military excursion. Where would I find him or her?” Xen just watched them as they surrounded the ute from ten meters away and started shooting.
Rael shook her head. “Hot heads. I’d say poor judgement, but they really didn’t show any at all.”
Wolfson waved, and the soldiers collapsed.
Peter choked.
“Relax,” Rael shook her head at him. “That was just a simple sleep spell. You need training so bad . . .”
He strolled out and waved his hands around, and the soldiers disappeared, one by one.
“Okay. Let’s go find the rest of them.” Xen hopped back in the ute and Rael turned for the corridor. Waved at the soldiers there as she zipped past and through the next gate.
She curved over to one side where a double row of tents led to a vehicle park . . . including six armored and tracked artillery carriers—not quite up to tank standards, but, Peter realized, small enough to fit through the gates.
A loud klaxon sounded and men boiled out of the tents. A man with a major’s insignia popped out of the first tent and strode out toward Wolfson, who stopped a few meters out in front of the ute.
Peter squinted and could almost see a soap bubble sheen across and all around them . . . no, it was just his imagination. Or wishful thinking.
Wolfson glanced at the sky. “Good Morning, Major . . . ?”
No answer. Wolfson shrugged. “I’m Xen Wolfson of the Department of Interdimensional Security and Cooperation. Disco, for short. The Dimension Cops, in other words.”
He paused, but the major still had nothing to say.
“Where are you going and who are you going to attack?” Wolfson again received no answer. “Well, no matter. It’s not allowed.”
“You do not control us.” The major looked toward his soldiers, who set up in an angled crossfire.
“I have no desire to control you, I will however, stop you.”
The major was looking straight at Peter, who tried to not hide. “I should have know a mutant subhuman couldn’t be trusted.”
“Yes, awkward when the subhumans show both superior morals and a better learning curve than the people would consider themselves the pinnacle of humanity. I think I need to speak to someone in your government. Hmm, what sort of government do you have, anyway?”
The major ignored him.
Peter cleared his throat. “The World Union of Socialist Nations is led by the President of the World, the Union Council and the People’s Duma. And the Supreme Court. But since they serve at the request of the President and can be dismissed by him . . .”
“Shut up, Genie.” The major looked to the soldiers again, and nodded to a captain.
Wolfson sighed. “Rael, will you hold the shield?”
“Got it.” She was speaking to thin air.
Peter blinked, but Wolfson really had just disappeared.
“Fire.”
This time it was hundreds of bullets hitting the shields. Ricochets in all directions. The two officers dived for cover, yelling orders to cease fire.
Peter looked around for Wolfson . . . his gaze hung up on the armored artillery carriers . . . which were an odd bronzy color and as he watched a truck changed color to bronze . . . and another.
Peter swallowed nervously as the major stood up and stalked closer. Eyes on Peter. “Rhodan? I order you to . . .” He stopped, glaring.
Peter slowly lowered his hand. He hadn’t actually, consciously, meant to give the major the finger . . . “Major Phillips, I presume? Have you now noticed the force field? The vehicle? I have with me people from three different worlds, whose embassies you are planning to attack, under some odd belief that there are nothing but primitives here.”
All the vehicles were bronze and now the tents were disappearing.
“Will you please reorder your thoughts and contact your superiors? Tell them that they just need to send a few diplomats, rather than a lot of soldiers? These people are quite civilized, and like all high tech civilizations, possessed of high tech weaponry?”
“You slimy little traitor . . .” the major’s head snapped around and he gawped at the missing tents, the bronzed vehicles . . . “What is going on here?”
The captain cursed and drew his side arm, aiming at a group of bronzed soldiers, swinging it from side to side. The other soldiers spun, looking for the threat. The closest group suddenly froze into bronze statues.
General pandemonium, with the area around the second group saturated with flying lead. The gunfire gradually died down. The soldiers watching carefully . . . until one man looked behind and spotted the three bronzed clusters . . .
And while they backed away from them, the two officers turned into bronze statues.
Rael just shook her head. “Poor boys. By repressing you genetically engineered types, they made themselves vulnerable to people who experimented and trained with what we call magic.”
Peter looked around, to where the last members of a two hundred man invasion were being chased down through a forest and being turned into bronze statues by an invisible man.
“Yeah.” His voice wobbled a bit. “Poor boys.”
Fire gulped. “I think I just figured out why no one messes with Xen Wolfson.”
Rael snickered. “They’ve tried. Oh, how they’ve tried. But while they were trying, other people were negotiating with other worlds, trading, learning . . . Bit by bit, they’re beginning to think he’s a good club to have around. So . . . can you call your family from here? This Socialist Union thing doesn’t sound terribly benevolent, just going from the old history books.”
Peter pulled out his phone and started tapping. “I’ll call Mom and Dad first and . . . Gramma Chloe? What are you doing . . .”
“Peter, get somewhere safe! There’s trouble here!” The phone clicked off.
“What’s wrong?” Fire clutched his arm.
“Gramma was at my parents. She just said to get somewhere
safe. They’re in trouble.” Peter felt faint at the thought. It’s just rumors and old history. No one disappears. There are no raids and people dragged screaming away, never to be seen again. That was in Russia. It never happened in North America!
Xen trotted up to the ute. “Trouble? Then you’d better go get them, while I relocate these people and then isolate them.”
Peter gulped. “Isolate . . .”
“Don’t worry. I’ll leave them with a route home.” Wolfson stepped over to a fallen tree. Waved his arms and walked back with two square rods, a meter long. A grabbing motion and there was a bronze square between them. He shoved his arm in, and bronze deformed around it. And failed to stick out the other side. “It’s a dimensional bubble. You can put anything into it you need to move. Even large things. Buildings. And people.”
He looked around the bronzed camp. “Would you like to borrow a car? I’m sure the major wouldn’t mind.”
Fire grinned. “I’ll help! You’re going to need some illusions.”
***
The soldiers saluted the illusion of Major Phillips, and let Peter drive straight through without stopping.
The Army had demolished half of the stores in the strip to get vehicle access to the gate. And closed the street to through traffic. The soldiers at that gate, leaned to look, straightened to salute and swung the bar open for them.
“Well, that was easy. Do you suppose they’ll let us drive back through as easily?”
Fire shrugged, turning to peer back at the encampment. “Your government’s a bit . . . militaristic, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know.” Peter shrugged. “The only other place I’ve ever been is Embassy . . . which is amazingly weird.”
“True. But . . . well, maybe they’re just extra defensive because of a new phenomenon.” She settled down. How far is it to your parent’s house?”
“Fifteen kilometers. This time of day, less than half an hour.”
In fact, the expressway was nearly empty, and he was coming up on the turn to his parents’ house when he spotted the “casual loiterers, who just happened to have military haircuts.”
“Oh, that’s going to be a problem . . .”
Fire turned and stared back at the plainclothes watchers. “Can we bluff them again?”
“No . . . or not the same illusions, at any rate. Let me cruise around the block . . . this street’s fine.” He turned right, then at the end of that street, turned right again, to pass his street.
Fire spotted the watchers as quickly as he did. He drove past that end of his parents’ block and tossed a look up the street. “No obvious government vehicles . . . and two men down the alley.”
Right turn, and then into a parking lot for several businesses. He parked the car, and looked at Fire. “Can you put an illusion on me that will last?”
“No. I’ll have to go with you.” She stuck her chin out stubbornly.
“Okay. Hmm, I’m too tall to pass as a woman.”
She snickered.
“So, maybe an old man?”
Snicker. “Right, C’mon, Gramps.”
Peter hesitated over his backpack . . . If we can’t get back to the car . . . He pat his pocket, yes he had his phone. He split the rod and shoved his backpack in. And hunched over and used the rods like a cane.
“Do I really look old?”
“Yep. Slow down. Unfortunately I can’t make you look skinny, but I’m trying to broadcast that you’re skinny, weak, and harmless.”
“You know . . . seeing Wolfson deal with a couple hundred soldiers like that . . .” Peter tried to get his thoughts in order. “I want to learn how to do all that. I don’t even know any of the basics. I don’t know if the old Genies do. It was discouraged from the very start, and once we joined the Union, it was criminal.”
“You joined? I mean . . . I figured, conquered.” Fire frowned. “But then at least half the Earths do have a single nation . . . this is just the first one I’ve heard about where Russia dominated.”
“Really?” Peter stared resolutely at the pavement. Shuffle along, small steps, just an old man. “But with so many people and diverse cultures and races, you have to have a strong government to stop crime, create jobs for everyone who can work, and provide for those who can’t.”
Or send them off to work camps to “learn a trade” except they never come back, do they, Peter?
“But . . .”
Peter snorted. “Can we argue politics later?” He shuffled around the corner, spotting the watchers coming alert, then relaxing. He shuffled past the first one on this side of the street.
And from the other end of the street, a man striding confidently toward them. Middle-aged, gray haired . . . “Oh crap.” He kept his voice down to a bare whisper. “That’s Uncle Daiki. He’s headed for my parents’ house!”
And all the loungers were starting to shift, closing up behind him. The watcher they passed strode past them, bumping Peter. He tried to stagger realistically, Fire grabbed him to steady him.
“You all right, Gramps?” But her attention was all down the street.
“Fine, girl, fine!” Peter stumped along faster as the watchers . . . the government agents! Oh God. They’re finally going to “cleanse the gene pool” like the extremists have been pushing for!
“Can you do that sleep spell thing? Like Wolfson?”
Fire laughed. “Nobody does it like Wolfson, but I can do a little. Let’s cover it up with a bit of physical fighting.”
“Let them all get close, less chance they’ll just shoot . . .” Peter straightened and ran forward as the first man accosting Uncle Daiki pulled his pistol.
He threw his shoulder into the man who’d shoved him, knocking him into another, then brought the rod down across the knuckles of the gun wielder.
Eep! Don’t break it!
Uncle Daiki turned and punched, then the rest of then were falling down too, and they bolted up the steps and through the door Dad was opening for them.
Peter slammed the door behind them. “Shields, Fire. Can you . . . ?”
“Got it!”
“Who the hell are you?” Dad loomed at him.
Then Blitz crashed into him, yelping in joy, wagging his tail madly.
Peter hugged the old dog. “And this illusion? Can you . . . ?”
“Peter! What on Earth!” Dad grabbed him and shook him.
“Gramma sounded like . . . well. I’m here to rescue you. This is Fire. It’s not spelled like that, but . . . Umm . . .” Peter ran down as he took in the audience. Large to small. “Is everyone here?”
His dad huffed out a breath, scowling. “Yes. Now that you’re here, they can go for a clean sweep.”
Peter looked at the rod. Rods. Pulled them apart to show the bronze interior, sort of shoving his pack out at him. “Or you could all cram yourselves in here and then we can see about how to get out of here.”
Fire had both of her hands on the front door, leaning her weight on it. She looked around, a manic grin on her face. “Peter? Did you hear about Lucky Dave? He’d get inside a bag, with just a hand out and creep along on his fingers.”
Peter started grinning. “And now I know just how to get out of the house.”
His mother hugged him. “I hope you have a safe place to go, after we get away. I hate to leave everything, but the alternative seems to be staying and getting killed.” She shot an anguished glance over her shoulder.
Peter followed her gaze, to Gramma’s big china cabinet, moved here when Gramma Chloe moved to a tiny retirement apartment. “Ah . . . I think it’ll fit.”
Which was freaky. Strange. Once he’d gotten one top corner in the bronze had stretched out easily. And when it was mostly in, the bronze had even slid under it and . . . There it was. It was even right-side-up when he opened the rods. Gravity’s a bit weird in there . . .
“But there’s no more room!” Aunt Zeynep reached and tugged on one rod, that pulled out leaving more space. “Well! Now isn’t this odd!”
<
br /> Peter suppress a giggle, feeling definitely odd. “How about shoving the couch in, so you can sit?”
“My books!” Dad looked up the stairs. “We were boxing them, to move . . .”
“Leave them up there, we’ll be going out the attic window.”
They started shoving furniture in . . . then upstairs to grab the books and the book cases, the desk . . .
A crash and bang from across the hall, the tinkle of glass. “I smell smoke!”
“Get in, everyone.” They climbed over the furniture. Peter shoved Blitz in and closed the bars, and yelled down the stairs. “Fire! Up here, now!” He pulled down the attic stairs as she bolted up the staircase and followed him up to the attic.
“How are you going to do this?”
“The roof slants down and over the garage roof. We just need to get in, and roll all the way . . . it may be a bit bumpy.” He crouched down, to avoid being seen through the window, and reached to unlatch it. Pushed it up carefully, and popped the screen out.
“Is this how you snuck out of the house?”
“Nah. Blitz and I would play ball. I’d roll it out the window and he’d race down to find it, race back up to give it to me, and then back down to try and catch it as it rolled off the garage roof. It kept him in pretty good shape.” Peter leaned the rods against the window sill and opened them. Fire squeezed in, and he backed in reaching out the window, and pulling the rods up even as they closed down on his wrist.
His narrow view of the outside spun wildly around, then he was looking across the roof at the tree that was moving to his right. There was no feeling of motion . . . even when they slid off and fell to the garage roof . . . he could see the upstairs windows, a flickering light . . .
They can’t burn the house down! The neighbors are so close! Don’t they care at all?
Then they fell off the garage roof onto the driveway, in plain sight. Peter jerked his hand back, just his fingertips holding the rods apart . . . he tucked his head close to the bars, until he could feel the twisty feeling. And hear voices.
“What was that?” A stranger’s voice. “Oh, just a stick . . . falling . . . Quick! The other side of the garage! They may be on the roof!”
