by Pam Uphoff
"Well, we're the best." Anki was frowning too. "Of course the Multitude votes for the best . . . "
"Multitude? I thought you called them Natives?"
Anki straightened up and looked dignified. "The New Prophets of the One True God were sent by Allah to save his people and convert the whole world to his worship. And they did. And they married the people here, who were civilized and who had had really good tech, before they blew themselves up in a nuclear war a century and a half before the Prophets arrived. They aren't Natives. Natives are primitive. We're doing them a favor, bring them civilization."
"Whether they want it or not?" Deep swapped glances with Este. "And I suspect you treat the people who live there poorly? Fail to recognize that they own their world?"
"Well, they don't anymore. The One is all."
Este wrinkled his nose. "Yeah. I was afraid of that. Well, good thing you don't have much in the way of space ships. We'll just hang around for awhile learning about you, then go home, without leaving a forwarding address."
"A what? Your mail works on Four Wardings? Huh."
Onni sighed. "Your business ain't going to work, you know? You're going to be broke space aliens as soon as you run out of money."
"Yeah." Endi shrugged. "Guess I ought to go look for work." He glanced at the screen. "Do those rich people have any jobs I could do?"
"Hmm, they advertise on the Grid. But you've got to have ident—an ID card—to get a job.""
During the commercials, they checked out several employment sites.
And that night, feeling a bit guilty, Kail reinforced the three Oners' sleep and the three witches examined their idents.
Plastic wafers with embedded data chips.
Heil sat down and turned scrap plastic and metal into wafers and then studied the chips. Duplicated them in most aspects. They were missing several rare elements, but a scrounge through various old electronics they'd scavenged to turn into flowerpots had the rare elements they needed to make ten of them.
"The problem is the programming. I can make blanks, but the programming has to be done by machine." Heil frowned at the stubborn inorganics.
Kail traced a finger over the embossed unicorn. "The One True God, they said. The One is all. Maybe we ought to be studying their religion."
Deep nodded reluctantly, "So these are like blank pages all bound into a book? The question becomes then, should they have been printed before being bound, or is it something that is added later, like writing notes in a diary?"
Kail put everything back where it belonged, and asked the men in the morning.
Onni closed his eyes in pain. "Little girl, the programming can, of course, be hacked. It is the actual chip, a masterpiece of microengineering that could only be done by someone who is With the One that prevents forgeries. Mind you a bit of illicit reprogramming goes on, now and then. But the original basic identification sector is engineered to not be changed. Only added to, education, jobs, addresses and such."
"Hmm, why don't you introduce me to someone who does illicit reprogramming, Onni?" Kail smiled at his horrified reaction. "Just an introduction, then you can go away."
"Oh no, they'd scalp you. You have no idea how much anything is worth."
"And you're female." Endi scowled at his little sister. "You know what would get tacked onto the purchase price. If I do it, it'll be all business."
"What will be all business?" Este yawned his way into the dining room. "This is so pointless I'm ready to try anything."
"Not anything." Heil protested. "We've only been here two months."
"We're working on forging ID cards." Kail fanned ten blanks. "Maybe we can swap the five extra blanks for the programming on five for us?"
Anki choked on a mouthful of coffee. "One. One blank for a premier job on five. Make him pay for the rest, and do not use your real name, and Onni, you go get grubby and act like a bum again, introduce them then shuffle off and don't look back. You never seen him before. Got it?" He studied Endi. "No way we can hide who you are, not many people around here as tall as you."
All eyes turned to Este.
***
The little old man had an aura of . . . unsavory hunger with something cold and reptilian under it.
Este shambled in, trying to look even dumber than usual. "Man paid me to bring you this, for reprogramming."
The old reptile pointed a number of things at him, and finally decided he wasn't an agent of the One. Or the government at some level. Or a cop of some flavor.
"What do you want added to your ident?" He smiled coldly, clearly planning on recording it all too, for future blackmail purposes.
"Everything." Este handed over the first blank.
The reptile blinked a few times. "Complete erasure costs extra."
"He said it was blank, already."
The old man slid it into a machine on his desk. "Sssooo I see. And what do you want put on it? I have a good solid background resource. I can customize the for your desired age."
Este handed over the data chip "So he said. I'll be twenty-six. File one, for the personal information."
The man waited. Este passed over a cash card.
The man checked it, nodded and shuffled into another room. He came back a few moments later and handed the ident to Endi. Endi pulled out the portable scanner Onni had insisted he take.
The scanner confirmed that the card and his thumbprint belonged together, and both belonged to Este Randle and gave a false birthdate, twenty-four years previous, birthplace and all sorts of interesting information about Mr. Randle's education, employment and previous addresses.
"Twenty-four?"
The man shrugged. "I couldn't get any deeper into basic school records. They got archived since I last added a student. Worse than public records, that at least gets referenced all the time."
"Huh. There are four other files on the chip." He pulled out five blanks, and held up one. "This for payment."
The reptile's eye blanked for a long moment.
"Yesss. Of course. And might these not be the only blanks that fell off that truck?"
Este blinked. What? "I might have a few more about somewhere."
"Five hundred each—if this one holds up to use."
"I'll come back in a few weeks, eh? See how many the man can find." Este checked each ident as he got them back, and smiled at the reptile. "Till then."
Could we destabilize things a bit if we flooded their system with forged ID cards? How important are they? And it looks like we could finance ourselves at the same time. Sounds like a good idea. The gold market, we could be traced easily. But since the blanks would be illegal, whoever we sold them to would keep quiet. And if it can mess things up here? Not likely, but anything beats the hell out of collecting names for an assassination blitz.
***
With ID cards, they could do anything and go anywhere. Including to college.
"We really need to diversify. At least go to other colleges. Real jobs would be even better." Endi sighed. "Somehow I doubt I'll be able to find a job shoveling out horse stalls."
Anki blinked at him. "You space aliens know about horses? Rich Oners are all horse mad. There's plenty of stalls to be shoveled."
***
High Society never changes. Right down to the snooty servants, Endi thought.
"So, you think you are good enough to care for Mistress Haov's horses?" Aspa Servaone looked down his nose at the applicant's chest. His thoughts were clear . . . tall, probably a half blood who didn't inherit the power. Better than the multitude at any rate . . .
"Yes, sir, I really get along good with horses, know all about them."
"Do you know how to ride?"
"Yes sir."
"Very well, take this saddle, and this bridle and follow me."
Four horses were turned out in a grassy paddock, perhaps two acres in extent.
"Catch the chestnut gelding and tack him up."
Two hours later Endi had a job, mucking out stalls and exercising horses f
or the daughter and son-in-law of the Governor of England.
Chapter Four
Paris, European Region
New Years Day, 1 Muharram 1396 yp
"Senior Analyst Izzo who is With the One, it is an honor to welcome you to Government House."
Izzo managed to get his jaw shut and nod. "I thank you for the hospitality." He managed to get the stilted formula out without a stutter. His brain floundered about and attempted to reboot. The girl dazzled. She glowed even around the edges of a solid mental shield.
"I believe this is your first visit?"
Uzga Withione chuckled. "Poor Izzo's a Colonial. You may be the first princess he's ever seen." He reached out and took a canapé from the girl's tray and steered Izzo away. "Don't look so stunned, they'll take you for a Multitude, instead of a high numbers Alcairo."
"I’m not that new. It's just that the princesses I've dealt with are all over a hundred years old, and rather let themselves go." Izzo tried to keep his eyes forward, to not turn around and gawk at the girl.
Uzga snorted. "Yeah. Ten years working Precog and Divination? Out in the middle of nowhere with everyone avoiding you like the plague? You might as well be right through the gate. At least you knew the proper response."
Izzo sighed. Uzga was the Regional Analyst for Europe and Izzo’s immediate superior. Don’t argue with the boss. Especially when he’s right.
Izzo’s eyes drifted. Most of the servers were male, in white outfits. Just a few guards, here and there. The princesses are fairly obvious . . . He spotted the woman who'd greeted him.
She had light brown hair up in a short clean style that set off the perfect planes of her face. Blue eyes. Spectacular, sparkling blue eyes. "They start them young, don't they? Is she a student intern?"
Uzga's shoulders shook with silent laughter. "She's a princess. That means she probably has every single one of the Prophets' genes. She's at least forty, possibly fifty, depending on which alleles she's got. The reason she's hovering around the main entrance giving people the once over is because she is one of their best and most experienced people."
"Oh. Of course." Izzo looked around at all the pretty people scattered around the room. Thank the One we came early. I wasn't prepared for the shock. Three weeks in Paris and I’m at a Presidential New Year’s Eve Party!
As a long lived Oner, he’d reached the age where he either made a power play or accepted mediocrity for the rest of that long life. He’d always pictured a Colonial government, though, when he’d thought of advancement.
Or escape from the Precog and Divination Department. There is no fate, there are only opportunities snatched or ignored.
He'd been a bit taken aback when his spur of the moment blind application had landed him a job offer. But he’d taken it. Adventure. Save someone, or find someone. So far it's been boring desk work and familiarization. But now I out here . . . without a clue what is going on. He'd spent the last three weeks memorizing all these people. Members of the Empire Council, government officials, high level bureaucrats, political party movers and shakers. He knew their records, and now he was at a party at Government House to meet them. Analyze them, use them, be used by them.
His eyes tracked back toward that young-looking princess. He jerked them away. Princesses, technically, were the women who were recruited and sent to Princess School. Despite the myth that they all had all two hundred and sixteen of the Prophets' genes, Izzo'd heard that the school recruited women who had as few as two hundred and twelve of the Prophets' genes, because—choose your favorite rumors—they had certain combinations of genes, certain specific abilities, or a cold blooded, naturally murderous personality. They emerged from the Princess School icons of beauty and grace, trained to dance, entertain, spy and kill undetectably. They were loyal directly to the One. Neither President nor Council had any authority over them. Every Directorate and Ministry official over a certain level had one assigned to him. The President’s cabinet had them. Councilors had them.
Officials who strayed too far from the wishes of the One tended to have unfortunate fatal accidents. And every fatal heart attack was accompanied by dubious (or angry or frightened) glances in the direction of the (possibly) weeping princess.
It was a means of checks and balances Izzo was not comfortable with. Does anyone actually worship the One anymore?
Now, with over a thousand years of perspective, we can say that they were probably dimensional travelers. Marooned here, they used their "magic" to scramble to the top of the food chain. And such a strange place they must have come from. Conquer the World, make everyone worship you—and give everyone the vote. Even the Multitude, the natives they found here. And their descendants may be the elite, and snobbier than the One's own Hell, but everyone still has the vote.
But worshiped or not, the center, the combined mind of the One, still has a grip on government through the Princesses. If major governmental changes through dirty tricks and even occasional assassination gets out of hand, the One steps in, generally through a Princess. His eyes drifted again, following yet another vision of feminine perfection carrying a tray. And I think I just figured out how they get so close to their principals. Who wouldn't want one close, and anyway, the assassinations are more rumor than actuality. I think I’m going to like this new job. I wonder if Regional Analyst is high enough for a Princess? Maybe I’ll move on Uzga’s job quickly. He suppressed a snicker. Three weeks in Paris and I’ve caught the ambition bug, One help me. Am I going to start playing the game? If so, I’d better sit back and pick up the rules before I smack face first into them.
A stir of activity marked the arrival of the President.
Orde Withione Tarsus Ottoman was a good looking man in the prime of life. A hundred and twenty or so years of age.
"That's Cage beside him. Spelled q, a, y, g."
"I've heard of her. Deadliest woman in the multi-verse and so on. More a bodyguard than a check."
Uzga nodded. "Most of the princesses here are guards. Their School gives them psychological tests regularly, and some of them just aren't ruthless enough to kill the man they've been sleeping with."
"So they become guards instead. How economical, not to waste that training." Drat, that means the canapé girl couldn’t ever be my Princess. His eyes drifted again, but the other princesses just didn’t have that same instant attraction. Drat.
Uzga grinned. "Oh, some quit and go off and get jobs just like regular people. A fair number in private security or even police, but more in entertainment." They both bowed as the President passed by, three bowing backs away.
Izzo closed his mouth again. The most dangerous woman in the world might have passed for thirty. A rare blonde. The Prophets had mostly been light colored, but they'd married the darker Multitudes they'd found living here when they came down to the One World. After a few generations, they'd encouraged their descendants to intermarry, concentrating the special genes. The magic genes. As a result, the lighter phenotype showed up frequently in the highest of the Oner families. He was blonde himself, Zeynep figured strongly in his ancestry, hence the doubled Z's of his name. Of course, fourteen centuries later, there was considerable controversy over just which of the Prophets in the pictures were which. And none of them had had names starting with Q, U, or X. The letters had been assigned generations later, after the Prophets had built up the civilization they'd found here. After they'd helped them regain knowledge that had been lost in the nuclear wars that had killed three quarters of the world population a century before the Arrival. The letter Z had been assigned to several specific versions of the packet of eighteen genes, the Prophets' genes, added to chromosome eight. The I insertion on chromosome sixteen contained a dominant blonde gene. From other insertions he had his below average height, above average athletic abilities, intelligence, and, of course, magic.
And thank the One, his insertions’ letters had let his parents choose a reasonably sensible name. Using four letters out of up to twelve possibilities, you’d thin
k all Oners could have reasonably pronounceable names, but some of them were just impossible. Back on Homestead, he and his friends had made jokes about the names they read in the news. Submerged in the culture, now, Izzo was finding it worse than he’d ever imagined.
Uzga was still talking about princesses. "But some are undercover—Dancers—no matter how civilian they seem. Always keep an eye on civilian women working in the Directorates."
Izzo swallowed a comment involving paranoia. "I understand the Princess School only takes, what, thirty percent or so of the near perfect gene set women. So there are plenty of untrained princesses around." He shrugged, and shifted his mind to work. After all, he was here to observe the people whose political maneuvers he was analyzing. He watched the President as he stopped and spoke to certain people. The Minister of Agriculture stood with the Minister of Audits. Both high rankers in the War Party. Opponents of the Modernist President. The head of the Interior Relations Directorate walked over and joined them. President Orde didn't seem intimidated by the trio. Qayg still had a hand lightly resting on the President's arm. She could block any blow toward the President's chest, neck or head.
Izzo overheard snatches of their conversation. The War Party was promoting a war with the only other dimension-traveling civilization.
Earth.
Izzo had been twenty-three, when the news came.
There was another World with Dimensional Travel. And they were not friendly.
The Colony of Granite Peak had been the prize in the first interdimensional war.
And the One had lost.
And then, just a few years ago, another World, not yet colonized, was taken from them.
It was past time for a confrontation with Earth.
This president, elected just eight months ago, was counseling a more cautious approach. Izzo frowned. Taking the unsettled but claimed frontier world back from the Earth was necessary. Allowing the Earth to get away with taking a second world from them would have devastating effects on the colonies, on the people's faith in the Empire.
