by Pam Uphoff
"The boys can be a bit intimidating." Ned grinned. "They don't like German spies."
"Spies!" She tried hard, but it had way too much amusement and way too little indignation.
"Think it's funny? We think it's deadly serious."
Ajha sighed. "Yes, I dare say. But I'm old enough to see . . . oh, not really a lost cause. But I think you'd be much more successful with a cultural revolution than an armed rebellion. Instead of getting killed trying to free yourself from them, turn them into what you want to be."
"What?" Fean echoed Ned's more profane comment.
"See, America is almost more of an idea than a nation. Or a mind set. You need communication . . . push a single idea at a time. That old bill of rights encapsulated the foundations of what all mankind ought to aspire to."
Fean eyed the man. What are you doing? We aren't supposed to get involved with these people. We're just collecting birds, right? "You mean, like the right of free speech, and stuff." Holy One! The New Prophets brought those ideas to us. They're in the foundation documents of the Empire.
Ned spat out the window. "And how do we get that into law?"
"Start with getting ordinary Germans to believe it. Demand it. Start with, oh, maybe, freedom of the press. Or the concept of regional governments having specific powers and responsibilities that the Reich cannot take from them."
Ned spat again.
"It's a very long term operation." Ajha shrugged. "None of my business, of course."
Ned swung the wheel and they veered off to the left and under . . . something that wasn't another odd rock formation, but put up a really good show. A canvas curtain with irregular horizontal rock colored bands rolled up, and then down behind them, daylight glowing through the canvas all around. Ned shut down the engine and the opened the door. "Out." Fean jumped when the door beside her flew open. A rough paw hauled her down from the seat. She got a foot down on solid ground, found her balance . . . and stopped herself from kicking the grinning oaf. I don't know what Ajha is doing. So . . . I'll just be Little Miss Meek until I get the signal to start beating the crap out of this lot.
Muffled cursing from the back. Hob stumbled around into sight. Bound and gagged, looking a bit tussled. Dan followed, looking a bit more subdued. Madam Song stalked past them. Nose in the air, eyes angry. She glared eye to eye at Ned. "What is the meaning of this! Are we going to have more equipment stolen?" She wheeled around to glare at Ajha. "You are supposed to prevent things like this. How can I possibly collect all the specimens I need if you are forever allowing these Natives to abscond with our equipment."
"I'll speak to them of the importance of your expedition."
"Humph!" She swung back to Ned. "I am on a hunt for rare animals. Birds that have gone extinct . . . elsewhere. And once we get to the southern deserts, some of the rare reptiles, as well." She shook a finger in his face. "You will not stand in the way of science."
Ajha looked pained. Fean called up a stun spell . . .
Ned scratched his chin. "I caught most of that. The English and Mexican parts. What was that other language?"
Song paused long enough for Fean to jump in. "Arabic, I believe Madam's old nanny was from Egypt. When she gets excited it tends to come out." Along with her insane fixation on extinct birds.
Madam Song snorted. "I was attempting to speak so that this man would understand." Sniff. "Waste of time, I suspect."
The dark hairy one laughed, and scooped something up off the ground. "You like lizards, heh? How about this one?" He stepped past the guys, holding a fat lizard between thumb and forefinger. His gesture waved the lizard in Leggy's face.
Leggy screamed through his gag and his nose. His bound hands came up under the rebel's hands, the lizard flew up in the air and landed on Leggy's head.
He screamed again, a flash of power and his hands were free. He snatched the lizard and threw it to the ground. Stomped on it. Danced on it. He ripped his gag out. "I got it, I got it! I killed the dragon!"
"You, you!" An inarticulate screech from Madam Song. She grabbed Leggy by the neck and started shaking him. Or strangling him. Or both. "That was a Northern Plateau lizard! I've never seen a Northern Plateau lizard! I can't believe you killed it! You crude barbarian, you . . . . "
"I killed it, I killed the dragon!"
Song's Arabic included words outside Fean's vocabulary.
Ajha looked over at Ned. "I really was hoping for an interesting chat."
Leggy broke the woman's grip and danced back. "I'm not afraid of dragons! I crush them beneath my feet!"
"He had a traumatic experience with, umm, a very large type of lizard. Hasn't really been quite right in the head since."
"I am the Master of Dragons!"
Fean looked around at the other rebels. They were laughing, careless . . . That slice spell . . . very very tiny . . . she slipped over to Hob. His eyes widened, and even with his hands tied behind his back, managed to hold them out and apart. She moved her hand carefully, unsure just how far out the effect reached . . . the rope fell apart. Dan turned and she got his. Ride's hands were bound in front of him. When he turned around toward her, one of the rebels noticed, grabbed for his gun . . .
She hit him with the stun spell before she consciously thought of it.
Hob pounced on another man. Idre tugged at his still bound hands, then jumped a rebel from the back, throwing his hands over his head and choking him.
Rapid fire spells from Ajha's direction, and the rest of the rebels fell over.
Ned was just standing there, one hand in the air. Sweating buckets and looking around. Paralysis spell. Interesting that it doesn't affect the eyes.
Ajha stepped forward and removed a gun from the hand of Hob's opponent as he fumbled it out of its holster. "Idre, just stun him, or use a sleep spell. No need to damaged him. Hob? I think we need that fellow in working order . . ."Ajha sighed and stepped back in, captured an arm, hooked the feet and had the rebel down on the ground and pinned. "We are neither Germans nor spies. This isn't our fight, but just because I'm a sucker for the underdog, I'll help you. All right?"
The man he had pinned wrenched his head around and looked at Ned. "What did you do to him?"
"Umm . . . hypnotism?" Ajha shrugged and got up, releasing the man. "Hob? Set up your gear. Copy everything you've picked up from the Germans, and that decryption program of yours. Show this fellow how it works." The man staggered around in a circle, eyeing the weaponry on the ground.
Ajha waved at Ned, who relaxed, staggered forward suddenly.
"Don't do anything Mike. Let's see what they've got."
Fean looked around. Leggy had Madam Song's arm twisted up behind her back, and another hand over her mouth. He was grinning like a loon. "I'm not even afraid of Princesses any more!"
"Good. Glad to hear that. Fean, as soon as Hob is done, get Madam Song into the rear and ride with her. I think Leggy had better stay up front with me for awhile."
Ned eyed him cautiously and edged around to watch Hob and his electronics. "We don't trust you, you know?"
"Of course not. But we'll be out from underfoot real soon, and you can go back to rebelling. But do think about cultural subversion and governmental reform. Really."
Hob handed this world's clumsy data disks to the rebel and stowed his gear.
Fean walked over to where Leggy had released Song and was prancing around whispering. " . . . little girls killing people and eating them . . . "
"Princess Song, come away from the lunatic. I think a nice lie down in a hammock would be a good idea, right now."
Song squeezed past the man, as if fearing contagion. Fean leaned closer and whispered. "Something wrong there, you know? Poor thing. I would have lost my temper and killed him. I admire your restraint."
Song snorted. "He's actually a well trained field agent, no matter what mental trauma he's suffered. I didn't want to trigger a magic battle."
First sign of common sense . . . maybe I should have beaten her up weeks ag
o . . . Fean boosted her into the back of the truck as the rebels stepped away.
The truck backed, turned and rolled away.
Hob peered out the back of the truck, and then sat back and looked at all of them. "So . . . did Ajha do all that on purpose, or was it all just improvised on the spot?"
One! Is Madam Song just his cover while he makes contact with the rebels? Is the Empire is going to clandestinely aid the rebels?
Chapter Five
24 July 2288
Himmler, California, North America, World 163
Driving through the desert took forever. Well, a week. They stopped twice to collect turtles, tortoises, whatever, and tossed them through a gate. It was a relief to climb into the Sierras. Coolness, water and trees. They camped beside Lake Tahoe. The mountain lake was just like the pictures of the same place from their world. Not that Fean had ever been there, but she still indulged in a bit of homesickness. Leggy and Madam Song seemed to have come to some odd sort of mutual respect. The next morning when they loaded up, they both got into the back of the truck as if nothing had happened. Fean took the front. They wound down around hairpin turns and through rocky canyons. The scenery was spectacular, when she could make herself relax.
They reached the regional capital of Himmler about dusk and checked into a hotel.
On the One World, and several of its colonies, this area was a vast productive farmland, with dams and irrigation. The tiny population of this North America just farmed along the river. They drove along the fairly well kept main highway that went all the way to the coast, bird watching. Madam Song had them turn off the highway twice while she stalked two types of meadow birds. Then they headed for a delta region where two rivers met just before their combined waters met the salt water of San Francisco Bay.
Which was no doubt named something different, here.
Ajha wound down dirt roads and then turned off even those, to drive through the tall grass. He stopped among the huge oaks growing in the banks of a sluggish side branch of the larger river.
Madam Song's eyes narrowed as she spotted some large wading birds . . . "Excellent!"
"We'll set up a base camp here for a couple of weeks, and travel around as needed, to find the birds you want. We'll send all the birds across and then head for Death Valley." Ajha nodded in satisfaction. "And I'll try to break loose enough time for some regular training sessions."
Ajha cut a wide circle in the grass with that slice of his.
Fean showed off a bit, digging a fire pit.
Ride shrugged and grabbed the shovel. They buried the beacon under a few cems of dirt. Not noticeable, if any one came to see who was camping on the riverbank, but easy to grab, if they had to move in a hurry.
An occasional car rattled past on the dirt road, and as she prowled about trying to spot the right kinds of birds, Fean spotted men fishing from the bank.
Other fishermen in small boats drifted past, and out on the main channel of the river, they caught glimpses of larger ships.
The training was excellent. Battle magic and subtle influences. Collecting huge amounts of power and using it in bursts of really, really impressive detection spells.
Fean watched in frustration as the guys worked in teams of four, trading in and out and gathering huge amounts of power.
Women didn't work the same way. But Ajha taught her some subtle little things. Easing through shields, both mental and physical. Leaning gently on moods and emotions to change them ever so slightly, slowly. Undetected.
And cooking. Idre turned out to be a fishing enthusiast, so Ajha taught them several different ways to cook fresh fish.
Fean stifled her amusement enough to ask him, politely, where he'd learn to cook. No doubt from a Servaone mother who worked as a cook . . .
"Mostly across. I've spent a lot of time on some really primitive worlds, the last thirty years."
Leggy laughed. "Well, what do you expect, when you won't shut up about . . . unpopular ideas?"
"Indeed. Interesting people I've met. Some that know some amazing spells."
Madam Song grumbled about the magic lessons, considering many of them the prerogative of princesses. "A man ought not know those at all, let alone well enough to teach them!" But mostly she captured birds, and cared for the birds already in cages.
One or another of them followed her as she stalked her prey. Twice, Ajha drove her further away. And finally, took Leggy with him to go buy supplies. "We'll be back tomorrow; the gate is scheduled for the afternoon of the day after. So Madam? That morning will be a good day to collect the large birds."
Fean scowled after the disappearing truck.
Hob laughed. "What? Did you want to go shopping?"
"I was thinking in terms of a hot bath and fancy dinner." Fean shrugged. "They'll be back tomorrow." She frowned at Dan, who was busy with a footlocker they'd unloaded. "What's he doing?"
"Goofing off while the boss is gone. I'm going to set my stuff up properly, for a change."
Fean watched for a bit, the electronics shop going up under one tree, and on the far side of the camp, some sort of chemical set up . . . "Oh no. Tell me that isn't a still!"
Dan sniffed. "Of course it's a still. I can't believe we're getting a beer or two every third or forth day when we're in town somewhere."
Fean blinked. "That's probably because you got totally blotto back in De Kalb."
"Yeah? So what. Ajha put Idre in charge, not you, Infant."
Fean bristled.
Madam Song wandered over from her bird cages. "I wouldn't mind a glass of brandy, myself. But what are you going to distill?"
"I've been mixing up fruit juice powder every time we empty a bottle. It pretty raw, for just drinking, but once I run it through the still . . . "
Fean turned and stomped away to find Idre.
Idre was fishing, and shrugged. "It'll keep him out of trouble later. Here he can get drunk, then hungover, and then recover. He ought to be functional by the time Ajha gets back."
Idre? In charge? Ha! One damned limp noodle can't make any decisions, he'll let anything slide.
She stomped off, frightening water fowl, and collecting glares from two fishermen in a boat, for most of the day. She circled back to find the still apparently operating. She cooked dinner, then retreated upwind to sleep.
The next morning was no better; Dan sampling this and mixing that.
She walked back out of camp and found a clear area and tried to shed her ire with meditation.
It took a good deal of work to relax, to let go. To float peacefully, surrounded by power, serene and singular. Undisturbed by laughter. Ignoring curses. Irritated by screeches. She opened her eyes. It sounded like Madam Song was having a problem with Dan. Dan apparently thought it was funny.
Fean muttered something under her breath that would had her mother threatening to wash her mouth out with soap. She got up and wound back through tall grass and low hanging oak limbs.
Dan had a cage in his hands. Madam Song had a chunk of firewood in hers.
Dan dodged a swing of the firewood and opened the cage. "Fly free little birds!"
Fean growled and stalked past Ride and Hob, idiots just standing there . . .
Three cars on the road, white roofs and light racks were all that showed above the tall grass . . . turning suddenly. They were driving straight for the camp . . . Fean stopped dead. Illusion spell, the illusion spell . . . Grass and trees, nothing here . . . She held the web of the spell in her mind and pictured trees, grass . . . The sheriff's car rolled into the clearing they'd made in the grass . . . a second and third car . . . Men jumping out, armed and heading for Dan and Madam Song.
No one even glanced toward this side of the camp.
Fean held the spell and thought grassy thoughts.
Concentrated. Shut out drunken Dan yelling as he got punched. Did not hear Madam Song's indignant claim to be a scientist studying rare birds.
Barely heard Ride's whisper. "Keep it up, Fean. Hob, get into the
sheriff's network. Intercept anything they send and let me see it."
Dan was handcuffed and shoved in one car, Madam Song in another.
" . . . keep your eyes open, in case there's more of them. I'll let you know when the Feds can get out here." The big beefy guy walked back and got in his car and led the way back out. One car and two men remained.
Ride stepped around her and pointed his finger. The two men collapsed.
Fean let the spell go and folded up on the ground.
"Damn they're direct radio to their HQ, and the sheriff's telling someone to call the steuereinnehmer. What the . . . "
"The tax collector." Fean rubbed her temples. "Nobody really cares about alcohol, as long as the government gets their money."
"Hob, can you get into their telephone system?"
"Of course. I can divert their call to us . . . oh One hell, they've got four calls going and . . . I'll take this new one . . . " Hob hastily plugged in a speaker and then a microphone. The speaker made ringing noises.
Ride fumbled, picked up the microphone, swallowed, and nodded to Hob. Click. "Guten Tag . . . "
"Mother? I mean, sorry, wrong number." Click.
The men exchanged glances. Snickered. Hob hastily pushed buttons. "Next call."
Ride cleared his throat, and nodded. "Guten Tag!"
"This is the Solano County Sheriff's department." A woman's voice, clearly local. "We have arrests two people in possession of an unlicensed still and alcohol."
"Where are the people you haf arrested?" Ride actually managed a bit of a German accent.
"They are enroute to the Collinsville jail, pending arraignment. The Sheriff says you may prefer to handle all that yourself."
"Indeed we do. A moment." Ride cupped his hand over the microphone. "Where the One Hell is Collinsville?" he hissed.
"Maybe twenty miles. I remember the sign." Fean whispered back.
Ride turned back to the microphone. "Do not disturb the still or the site. The Inspector will meet the Sheriff in Collinsville in . . . one hour. Please tell him to expect Herr Dusseldorf."
"I will, sir." Click.
