Empire of the One (Wine of the Gods Book 14)

by Pam Uphoff

  They scrounged a huge black t-shirt, three sizes of civilian pants, socks, and four pairs of shoes. Urfa carried them all in as Endi walked out of the bathroom, damp, wearing a towel. Shaved, his hair cut. Since he didn't have access to razor or scissors . . .

  Damn it, he's deliberately showing everyone that his magic is in working order.

  Endi dressed with care, bending over slowly, but showed no sign of serious pain. The three priests escorted him to an aircar on the roof. The door was closed in Urfa’s face.

  He scrambled for transport of his own, calling Major Eppa and Captain Onca and letting them know it was all being dropped in their laps. He caught back up to the priests on the train from Madinah.

  Endi looked sleepy, but more amused than anything. "I keep losing track of which one of them has spoken. The worst thing is, it doesn't seem to matter."

  "No. It doesn’t."

  "Very strange, that pressure. It’s like trying to hear a thousand conversations at once. Annoying, really."

  "Wait till they all focus on you." Urfa snorted, as Endi’s eyes closed and he slid back into his healing sleep. He’d better wake up for the One.

  He did, as the train slid to a halt, looking more alert than Urfa’d seen him since the assassination attempt. Wary. He walked, and finally stood, a bit shakily, in the center of a small amphitheater.

  "Who are you? Lower your shields and show yourself." Several of the people in the amphitheater spoke together.

  Urfa edged into a seat on the far side of the two dozen men and women present today. Even with his own shields up and solid, he could see the glow of them, hear the rushing murmur of their complete communion of minds.

  Endi let his shields down part way. "I am Captain Xen Wolfson, Kingdom of the West, of the World you call Target Forty-two."

  "You are more than that." More people walked in. Sat, all together in a clump with the others.

  "I am a multi-sourced wizard."

  More people came. Lots more people. A steady flow.

  "Lower your shields."

  Endi’s glow brightened. And brightened.

  "Completely. Join us."

  Urfa shivered, and softened his own shield. He needed to know this. He slid into the whole of the One.

  Urfa—Xen—the One—understood a world where the most powerful magicians were subject to the collective subconscious, but did not become a single mind like the One, but rather became separate personifications of the archetypes. They all knew the archetypes, had the same tropes as his home, they knew what he meant, Urfa knew what a god of his world—of Target Forty-two—was.

  The Hive brain contemplated him—Xen. He—no, Xen—contemplated back. His mind was wide open as he wondered if it retained the memories of deceased hive members.

  "Do you remember the Prophets?" Urfa could feel his lips moving, but only Xen spoke aloud. The man’s strong mind was holding its integrity even without any shields. "Do you have their memories? Do you remember NewGene? Number One Kids? Trans World Travel? I think my people and the One have much in common. We are not identical, but much the same."

  "We do not like to remember so far back. Before we became what we are." Cloudy impressions, faces, voice tones.

  "Do you remember Wolfgang Oldham? Jason Rombeau, Gisele Heath, Harry Murchison, Michael Omega, Ritchie Xi. Do you remember them?" Xen’s memories were clear, like little video clips as he deliberately pulled from memory. Tall men, a spectacularly beautiful woman. "Paxal Gamma, Mercy Green, Chauncey Tabler, Rebecca Abrahms, Marty Branson, Edmund and Barry Sigma."

  Urfa started as people bumped up against him. The amphitheater was full.

  "The engineered gods who operated the trans-dimensional gates rebelled. All the genetically engineered were exiled to five or six worlds. When the last had passed through the gate, the gods rebelled, and escaped, passing through the gate as well. Target Forty-two is one of those worlds. That last world."

  The One, all of the pieces of the One, stared at him. "Who are you?"

  "Chauncey Tabler and Harry Murchison are in my maternal line; Wolfgang Oldham is my father. Do you remember them? " Xen smiled faintly, even as he swayed on his feet. "I am so high in the engineered genes and power genes that the collective subconscious recognizes me, molds me, uses me and is used by me. I am the God of Spies. And I have come to spy upon the people who have attacked us.

  "We are not sub-humans, evolved differently than the One. Once your ancestors were colleagues, friends, fellow slaves, of my ancestors. Just one thousand three hundred and ninety-four years since we escaped into exile. Two years after the Orange Team, the Number One Kids' experimental creations, were marooned by an early experimental gate. Is that where the name of the One came from? Or are you also an Exile World? Our engineering is too close to yours for it to be a coincidence. We are equals, brothers reunited in adulthood. Be our friends, not our enemies."

  There was a long silence, as the One slowly shut itself away from Xen.

  "Begone. We do not wish to remember, so long ago, before we became what we are."

  A brief near-silence. Clothing rustled as individual bits of the whole exchanged glances, almost as if they'd all retreated, just a bit, into their own minds. But they stilled again, and spoke as One. "We remember."

  The old man in the center leaned and studied Xen. "I remember."

  Xen met the old man's eyes for a long moment. Then he turned and walked unsteadily out, raising his shield in fits and starts. His escorts stepped out of the mass of the One, as they all filed out. Urfa wrestled with his own limp shields and got his thoughts in order. He staggered to the train station and collapsed for the first hundred miles.

  "My brain hurts." Endi commented after close to an hour. They were alone. The One had not felt a need to escort Endi back to Paris.

  "I imagine so. I'm impressed that you maintained integrity so well."

  "Huh. That implies that some people never really get themselves back inside their heads. Don't confirm that, please, I'll have nightmares enough as it is."

  Urfa snorted, and called Ocna with orders to send men to escort Endi back to the hospital. As if he couldn't escape, if he wanted to. I ought to just send him off alone with a map back to the hospital. And why have I suddenly reverted back to calling him Endi? I suppose I ought to just be glad that I seem to have all of my own self back in my head and no one else accidentally scrambled in. That I’ve noticed.

  After a long moment, Endi shifted uneasily in his seat. "That old man in the center . . . I thought all the Prophets were dead."

  Urfa blinked. "Yes. That is what I have always heard."

  Urfa stayed long enough to hand Endi over to the guards at the Dimashq airport, then turned around and headed back. Partway. In Medinah, he checked into a hotel, and crawled into bed to let his brain recover.

  Then he returned to Makkah, as the prisoners began arriving.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Makkah, Middle Eastern Region

  25 Hija 1396

  "Blind errand runners" they called men who played the game by following orders while never being told anything. Never wanting to know. Astonishing. Or maybe it was the concept of 'Innocent enough to be ignored' that astonished Izzo.

  Or the contact with the One.

  The final arbitrator of justice, and a harsh one.

  Izzo travelled in advance of most of the upper echelons of the Interior Directorate, the War Ministry and the War Party to Makkah, and was viewed by the One. A strange sensation. To the One, the assassination attempt had simply been a natural shaking out of the leadership. The One committed a complete reading of the five hundred people most likely to have been complicit in the assassination at the request of the President, not for its own information.

  On the first day, Endi Dewulfe, barely ambulatory–or was that unbelievably ambulatory–had been brought in briefly. What the One made of him, or what he made of the One were unknown. The One isolated that particular interview. Endi was removed promptly after a mere
hour in Makkah. And then the prisoners had begun arriving. Those interviews were open. Everyone for a hundred kilometers around saw their ambitions, their intent, their vicious petty egos. Their guilt, their willful ignorance or their innocence. And then everyone else, wishing to prove their innocence. At least those were fleeting flashes, but some flavor of personality flickered through, none-the-less. Izzo shuddered at the thought of so much ambition it would drive a person to give so many people a naked glimpse of their egos. And silently thanked the One that his own had been so early, before most of these people arrived.

  The trial took place in Makkah, and after the reading, had been brief. Uzga, despite having been part of the merge, had only been aware of the breach in the presidential security as a means of placing eyes and ears among the staff at government house. He had not known of any planned action against the president. Certainly he had known of the ill will, and the desire to kill Orde. But only knowledge of actions pending counted. Izzo wondered if Poppy would be glad of his survival, whether their marriage would survive this crisis. Efge was a blind errand runner. He had no knowledge of the assassination attempt. Nearly half those arrested had been party supporters or retired luminaries, without any knowledge of an assassination.

  Five highly placed members of government and the War Party, with knowledge of the planned assassination, had been taken from the courtroom and executed. Opri, the Minister of Agriculture and Councilman Wsde. Ylro, the cuckolded exterior directorate subdirector he'd seen humiliated into resigning, had been the man who had first approached the waiters with the idea of assassinating the president. Wsde's aide Idru, who'd been one of the men who'd so nearly murdered the Councilman's wife in Izzo's bed had arranged to have dueling blades on hand, to be switched for the safe blades that had passed the security inspection. His new boss, Regional Analyst Arna.

  Other highly ranked War party members had been ignorant of the plans and released.

  The smaller fish, the surviving native and Oner triggermen were all executed.

  It was a brutal day. Widely broadcast.

  Then everyone returned to their duties, probably feeling much less casual about their little cliques and games.

  Izzo had been among the last to leave.

  The One had been more interested in Izzo's independence and abilities than in the assassination attempt. Izzo's mental solitude, and his magical abilities had been a matter directly of the One. Which had, on balance, approved. That buzzing discourse, just outside his perception, had seen him and then sent him away, whole and unchanged.

  Izzo didn't think the experience was going to make him religious. Cautious, yes.

  Agfi Withione transferred in from the Ministry of Finance to take over as Interior Director. He eyed Izzo a bit suspiciously. The elderly man considered Izzo appallingly young for a senior analyst, let alone his being pushed by the President for consideration as the Regional Analyst. The exonerated Efge had actually grumbled about being passed over for director, until he saw Izzo's astonishment. Then he'd flushed guiltily and shut up.

  And I thought Precog and Divination was full of people not living in the real world! The man's lucky to have his head, let alone not being forced to resign as subdirector.

  I suppose Urfa's trying to keep people who might feel grateful, not to mention avoiding having the entire Directorate management staffed with new people. I hope it works.

  Izzo settled down and tried to figure out what needed to be done next. "Still the damned Fire and Sword society, still Al Iadrah offshoots to trace from the paperwork we've captured, and now the hunt for spies from Forty-two."

  Chapter Forty-three

  Paris, European Region

  10 Shawwal 1396 yp

  "There's no point in keeping you in a hospital when all you are doing is some weird regenerative sleeping." Urfa frowned. The apex of my career, catching the spy who’d gotten inside presidential security. The first successful interdimensional spy to infiltrate the One. Ever. Who very nearly lost his life saving the president of the enemy nation. The man who saved my president, my friend. What the One am I to do with you?

  "Umm. Flip a coin. Jail blatant or jail subtle?" Endi poked through the case full of his own clothing.

  All checked. All purchased locally. The few foreign items, the laboratories were analyzing.

  "Subtle. The President asked if you would please wave to the teenagers holding the candlelight vigils, so they will go back to school."

  "Shall I lecture them?"

  "No. The in-depth studies of your culture are appalling, especially as regards education."

  "I suppose. See how the One World could uplift our World with trade in computers and computer games?"

  "You don't have electricity."

  "And photovoltaic panels."

  "What, no large generators?"

  "We don't have a distribution grid in place. Just as cheap to go solar for home use. The larger cities, and as we modernize, the factories, will probably require very large generators. Replace those steam engines we use now."

  Urfa guided him out the door. A phalanx of guards fell in around him, abandoning what looked like a semi permanent camp in the middle of the hospital.

  "Thank you! Sorry about all the guards!" Endi called back toward the hospital staff.

  "Endi!" Urfa grabbed his arm and dragged him along.

  Endi pulled himself together, and with an obvious effort, forced himself to move with a semblance of his usual ease.

  Outside he waved to the cluster of white clad little girls hovering big-eyed.

  "Dear God, Urfa, I thought you said teenagers, not children! I'd have thought you'd tell them about me."

  The reporters dodged through the children and nearly attacked the guards. Xen waved at them too. "Sorry, no interviews today! Remember, I only kiss girls with good grades!"

  Urfa clenched his teeth. As he not-quite-shoved Endi into a van that immediately drove off.

  "So. Your sense of humor wasn't part of the act?"

  "Nah. I wasn't really acting."

  "Then what the hell were you here for?"

  "To learn about your culture. You and Earth seem ready to grind us up between you, so we need information. Anything and everything about your culture, government, and technology. Getting into the limelight like I did had my associates screaming bloody murder."

  Urfa hoped his poker face was holding up.

  "If I weren't positive they'd dodged back home within minutes of hearing about the assassination attempt, and my involvement, I'd never have mentioned them." Xen grinned. "And the wretches haven't even tried to contact me."

  Urfa sighed. "I suspect you’re lying again. The doctors have pointed out that giving you methalformaline was a wasted effort, as you apparently metabolize it within minutes. Are you in constant contact with your spy cell?"

  Xen looked back, all innocence. "Oh, they’ve been pretty busy, but I could probably get someone’s attention if I needed to, oh, send a diplomatic message or some such."

  "You really aren't worried, are you?" He's laughing at us. One! God of Spies. If that’s not a joke, I'm probably about to take him to the wrong place.

  "No. If you were going to kill me, I'd never have woken up in the hospital. If the President was going to kill me, he'd never have admitted I was recovering. If the One wanted me dead, I'd never have left Makkah."

  They drove for quite a long time, switching cars twice. "Reporters." Urfa growled. "Worse than Earthers."

  Endi kicked back and slept.

  Their destination was a small retirement home. With a big fence, guards and high tech security. Mostly aimed out, not in.

  "Old spies home?" Endi ventured.

  "Something like that. People who cannot be trusted to keep their mouths shut any longer." Urfa's eyes tracked a vacant-eyed woman being pushed in a wheelchair. One of the top agents, ever. She'd trained Qayg. And himself.

  Endi got an end room and guards all his own. A couple of the more sharp-eyed but less physically
able residents looked him over.

  "We'll see he doesn't get away, Director." A man lacking three fingers of his right hand, his entire left arm and both legs nodded sharply. His old mentor.

  Endi sniffed. "I can outrun you, you know."

  "By the One, Sonny, you better mind your mouth. I roll damn fast." But the old man had a twinkle in his sharp eyes.

  Urfa shook his head in disbelief. Endi could befriend anyone. "Send me reports, as needed, Inso. Don’t fall for his charm."

  The reports, both from the regular guards and from Inso were fascinating. The former included video. The later, shrewd analysis.

  The retired spies seemed drawn to Endi. The God of Spies, One help me. Meals were communal, in a nice dining room, complete with big beefy waiters. Inso noted that Endi went out of his way to eat with all the various residents, former spies or not, during the first month.

  When he woke for meals, every third or fourth day.

  Unlike the silent guards who refused to even tell him their names, Inso decided to analyze him through social interaction. Endi proved to be a deadly card player.

  Inso was hard put to keep his desserts.

  Especially after Jiol perked up, abandoned her wheelchair, and started taking part in the nightly games.

  Endi was taking advantage of his having been discovered to ask questions. Not secrets. He wanted to know more of the highest Oner culture, asked about their impossible names. He said it was nice, not having to worry about exposing his complete ignorance. Urfa enjoyed the recorded sessions, seeing his old mentors. What happened, that Jiol has recovered? Endi, Xen damnit, shouldn't be able to heal her. Our best medgicians worked on her when the damage was fresh. Scar tissue on nerves and in the brain block further healing. We thought.

  "I mean everyone must have a four letter name? And male names start and end with vowels, with two consonants in the middle, women the opposite. Geez. Even with the Clan names tagged on, don't you need, like, a middle name? To be different?"