by Pam Uphoff
Rael
Pam Uphoff
All through the Multiverse the variations of Earth have clashed. Now the Department of Interdimensional Security and Cooperation has imposed a ceasefire among the high tech Earth, The Empire of the One with both tech and magic, and the highly magic low tech Comet Fall.
But they can't stop intrigue at home, nor romance abroad.
Copyright © 2016 Pamela Uphoff
All Rights Reserved
ISBN
978-1-939746-18-4
This is a work of fiction.
All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional.
Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Cedar Sanderson
Table of Contents
Just Following Orders
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
A Small Family Wedding
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Excerpt from Directorate School
About the Author
Other Books by Pam Uphoff
Just Following Orders
Pam Uphoff
Chapter One
12 Shawwal 1401
"I don't know why I keep winding up in your bed."
Rael could feel the flex of his facial muscles against her temple.
"It's not funny, dammit."
"Yes it is. The reason is that you are either here to distract me, divert me, take advantage of my brilliant . . . oof! Violent brute! Vicious, spikey little redhead. To dangle bait. Or to talk me into doing something for Urfa."
She snorted, and cuddled into his chest. "I needed to get away, to find the time to think. To dissect the politics behind an order I received, and . . . figure out how best to carry it out."
"You don't like the orders? Who you working for these days, Spikey? Urfa or External?"
She sighed. "I came to hide, not explain things to an enemy agent."
He rubbed the heel of his hand up and down her back. "So you don't like the orders. Think they're politically motivated?"
"I've been ordered to kill a man, so the police investigation exposes his racketeering, traces his bribes, threats, intimidations, get his blackmail victims to talk and so forth. It's damned bad police work—I don't even have to consult with the cop my sister's dating to know that. Actually he probably has this weird idea that assassination has no place in police work at all."
Xen snickered.
"Could be just cleaning up corruption with a message that it won't be tolerated. Or possibly a personal vendetta. But I don't know . . . the political aspects could be very deep."
He snorted. "Could be? With Oners? If the police investigation doesn't find any of that very impressive list—either because they are paid off, or, wonder of wonders, the man's honest—will they connect a friendly redhead to his death and accuse Orde and Urfa of having him killed?"
She nodded. "I . . . don't think the blame will fall on them. I had thought of that. But I don't see who would gain, who could order the hit. I just have such a bad taste in my mouth, and I don't know if it's because I don't want to kill the man or . . . if it smells like a trap."
Xen shrugged. "It could be personal. After all these years, you'd think the War Party should have gotten over your information leak. But, from what I've heard and read, you're too well known as a Presidential Guard for anyone to not assume anything you do is by order of Urfa, and thus the President."
"One damn it all." She snuggled in. "So how do I figure out whether I ought to kill this guy or not?"
"You got through my shields. Can you get through his?"
She snorted. "You weren't surrounded by maids and butlers and a wife and an official princess."
"And can you invoke the same investigation without killing him? What if he just disappeared?"
"I'm supposed to make a big nasty mess. Make it newsworthy."
"The only thing that attracts more public attention than blood, is sex. Or a really good mystery. How about if he disappears after being seen in public with a drop dead gorgeous woman? With spiked red hair. See what happens, both with the police and the politics. If it turns out to be an attack on Orde, then you bring him back."
"I really can't keep a man captive in the barracks." She snorted. "Tempted though I am to give it a try—with you."
"It'd never work. You need a bubble. Trans-dimensional, with handles."
Rael froze. "The Prophets had those. There were only ever thirty-five in existence . . . and some of those have been lost."
"Easy to make." His chest rumbled in a chuckle. "For someone of my brilliance. So . . . who is this fellow that you are going to kill, or not?"
"Former External Director Agni."
Xen's muscles all stiffened. After a moment he started breathing again. "Princess, excuse me, Dancer. Why does the One want him dead?"
She huffed out a breath. "Is it that obvious who's ordering me around?"
"I was having trouble seeing Urfa ordering you to kill anyone, let alone someone you didn't completely agree with him about killing. So who else can order you around?"
"The problem is, I'm not really sure about the validity of the order. Things are a little weird, at the moment. We've got conflicting Philosophers."
"I thought that was the nature of philosophy?"
"No. I mean, yes. But this is a conflict in the overarching philosophy of the One itself."
He made an irritated sound. "Keep in mind that I was pretending to be a Oner pretending to be a Halfer, when I was there. With damn little to base our guesses on. And I couldn't ask questions in case it was something every ten year old knew. I haven't got a clue what you are talking about."
"The One itself, the hive mind, has a member who personally, individually, holds a strong philosophical belief. His strength is based on the large majority of people who also feel that way. He anchors the One. He . . . causes the bias of the One's decisions and actions. But right now we're in the middle of a major change in how everyone views the universe. Multiverse. All your fault, by the way. We now have two men who embody two different alternate philosophies, and have so much backing in the populace, in the collective subconscious, that they affect the hive mind. Despite the strongly held beliefs of the official Philosopher."
"Oh. Great. I thought the whole Hive Mind was creepy enough already. Now it's gone schizo?"
She growled. Grit her teeth. "No. Well. Yes. I never was convinced it hadn't lost track of reality centuries ago. But now it's got a multiple personality disorder on top of it. And I can't tell who's operating on their own—only possible under these sorts of conditions—and who really does represent the One. This week. I don't know who wants Agni dead."
"I don't understand why. Since he's retired."
"Oh, he's just retired from External. It's a tossup whether he'll settle for Minister of War, or run for President."
"Spikey, you are so screwed." He rubbed his chin on her head.
She could barely detect him thinking, couldn't snag a single thought through his habitual shields.
"Wouldn't the One just order his Princess to kill him?"
"Whoever it is wants messy."
"Heh. And for it not to be blamed on the One. Spi
key . . . I think we ought to create a very public mystery. With moderately tight alibis for both of us."
"Both of us? Xen! I came to think and grouse, not recruit you . . . " Her voice trailed off. "Of course what I'm really famous for are these rumors of an actual romance between us. I wonder if someone counted on me roping you in."
"With me as the actual target? God knows I'd love to pull a dirty trick on Agni."
"So you should stay away . . . "
". . . help you. It'll be fun."
"Yeah, as much fun as remodeling this old house I bought. Ought to have had my head examined."
"Aha! The truth comes out. You just want me to help with the house. Which will be a perfectly good reason for me to be there. Now, we'll need to find the best opportunity to nab Agni. Set up some witnesses, and choreograph our actions . . . "
Chapter Two
17 Shawwal 1401 yp
Regional Analyst Izzo Withione Alcairo sometimes wondered why he'd worked so hard to establish friendly relations with the Criminal Investigations section. I'm supposed to see this stuff coming and prevent it, not investigate it afterwards. Who the hell wants the former head of the External Relations Directorate dead? If he's dead. Izzo tuned out the discussion and started a list.
The other War Party Presidential hopefuls made the head of the list. Retired Councilman Ahvi Withione Black Point and currently serving Councilman Urna Withione Peking. He'd have to double check on who else was looking like running—this week.
And the other political parties couldn't be ruled out. Including the sitting president.
And Comet Fall had Agni on their shit list, as he'd been instrumental in plotting out the failed invasion, not to mention having been in a position to know about several murders committed by Action Teams.
But the method! That disappearance just screams "Bag of the Prophets." I've seen them in action. The One has them . . . I'll have to check on the whereabouts of Isakson and Ra'd, they each have one. Warriors of the One, straight out of history, One help me! And then I need to find out if Comet Fall has such things, and I strongly suspect they do . . . must, the way Xen produced that sword during the assassination attempt.
He looked back at his list. It was looking a lot like a list of huge groups that had motives. Is there anyone who didn't want him dead?
The vid screen at the front of the room lit again.
Three security cameras had picked up the . . . incident. All three showed now on the split screen.
Agni charging across a mostly empty hotel lobby. His usual gait, nothing unusual there. His bodyguard scrambled to keep up and keep between Agni and a group of people to the left. The guard looked forward. The outside security cam showed Agni's limo pulling up to the curb. The only other person of interest was a woman under a large black umbrella, just entering the vestibule of the hotel lobby from the street.
The bodyguard ignored her, fell behind Agni to remain between Agni and the group of men. The woman walked through the outer set of doors and lowered the umbrella, collapsed it. Short red hair, spiked. Reflecting wraparound sunglasses. Looking down, fooling with the umbrella as she took the three steps to the inner doors. Agni blasted through, she sidestepped, made a sweeping motion with her left hand and Agni disappeared. She stepped through the still open door, and past the bodyguard without a pause. And walked across the lobby.
Outside, the chauffeur had hastened around the car and opened the door. Closed it on absolutely nothing. The bodyguard hustled out, opened the front passenger door and slid into the seat. The chauffeur got behind the wheel, and put the car in gear. It eased forward. Stopped abruptly. Both chauffeur and bodyguard leaped out to examine the back seat. The bodyguard bolted back into the building.
The woman with the umbrella had crossed the lobby and walked out the side door, raising her umbrella and becoming one of thousands of people hustling through the misty drizzle on the way to work.
Senior Investigator Ohse scowled at the screen. "Damn good illusion. Fooled both the chauffeur and the bodyguard for just long enough. There's no doubt that the woman . . . was instrumental in the snatch . . . or whatever we just saw. And she certainly looked, at first glance, like Presidential Guard Rael Withione Montevideo. But at second glance, there are differences. The details of the ears, the profile of the nose and chin . . . Someone deliberately imitating her? Or did she alter her appearance just enough to claim it was someone trying to throw the blame on her?"
"And she has so many possible people who might order or persuade her to help them kidnap or kill Agni." Izzo fished in a pocket for a toothpick . . . stopped himself.
Ohse nodded. "Rumors have it she's a former Dancer for the One. And they never really stop being agents of the One. Or Urfa and the President. Or Xen Wolfson. But why then, would she stay so close to her own appearance. Just a wig, and we'd never have made the association." He looked over at Izzo. "I was wondering if you had any . . . access to her."
"I can arrange it." Izzo nodded at the screen. "That was just two hours ago? Let me check . . ." he tapped in Xiat's grid address. May I accompany you to Rael's new house? Yes, business. Sorry.
The reply was immediate. I was going to stop by after work. Is this time critical?
Yes.
Right. Pick me up.
"All right. I'll head there now. Who's coming with me?"
***
Xiat raised her eyebrows at Ohse's inclusion in the expedition.
"Someone who looked a whole lot like Rael attacked . . . someone . . . this morning." Izzo hesitated.
"She survived?" Xiat glanced from Izzo to Ohse.
Ohse shrugged. "He. We haven't found the body—breathing or not—yet. It was a very slick snatch. Professional. We haven't a clue what is going on." The cop bit his lip, then added. "It's Agni."
"Oh. One. You need to find him. Fast." Xiat huffed out a breath. "First rule of kidnappings."
Izzo accelerated up the ramp of the crosstown speedway. He'd looked up Rael's acquisition yesterday, when Xiat had spoken of it. An old house in an old neighborhood, roughly midway between the city center and Versalle, the presidential retreat on the edge of the old Paris ruins. Not terribly large, and apparently pretty rundown. But handy to either of Rael's duty stations.
He dropped off the speedway and zigzagged around corners. The area was on the way up, but it still had a lot of rundown properties. He spotted the right street . . . the right house number. The water stained stucco exterior needed patching and paint. One front window was boarded over. Two piles, one of sand and one of gravel filled the driveway. He parked on the street.
The door flew open as they walked toward the door.
"Xiat! Thank the One you've come! Come see what he's done to my bathroom! It's pink! I'm going to kill him!" This spike-haired redhead was all bounce and extravagant gestures. Irate instead of her usual giggly self. Barefoot, wearing a baggy one piece jumpsuit in a shade of orange that clashed with her hair. She hauled Xiat inside.
Izzo and Ohse traded glances. "Surely not . . . " They followed the women into the house.
The most infamous spy in the history of the Empire was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Endi Dewulfe. Xen Wolfson.
With vid cams pointed at him.
Four men in "casual business" attire looked around, then turned back to their equipment.
"What, umm, what?" Izzo eyed the recorders. It looked like they were recording a dozen vid cams.
"He's using magic on a massive scale to remodel the house." The man who answered looked almost manic. "He just sat there and the foundation shifted back and healed all the cracks . . . it looks like a solid slab of stone now. And the bathroom! Dear One, what he did in there!"
The man on the floor smirked a bit but didn't open his eyes. "They're from some university. Rael decided I probably ought to be studied. So I'm showing off a bit for the audience." His teeth flashed in a quick grin. "And now I'm changing the color of the bathroom. In fear of my life, mind you."
That
started a stampede down the hall.
Ohse crossed his arms and stared down at Xen.
Izzo stepped down the hall.
The bathroom was very pink. The floor, the countertop, the toilet, the bathtub, the arched alcove it was in, and the wall behind it.
As he watched, the color paled, the tub turned white and gleamed. The countertop, the toilet . . . except the seat and lid flushed a pale blue. The floor color deepened. Purpleish, then the red disappeared altogether and the color deepened further. The observers danced back a bit, as if they expected the floor to eat them. The deep blue floor shimmered. Izzo leaned and watched small blue crystals merge into larger blue crystals, clear crystals formed and gave the floor depth, iridescent gleams reflected off deep blue facets . . . Izzo swallowed uneasily. He's ten meters away. And I don't know anyone who can do things like this even when they are in contact with it, although I've heard it can be done. He straightened. The arch over the bathtub was now the same deep blue stone, but with pinprick lights scattered about. The back wall looked like translucent glass with a faintly irregular surface in a squarish geometric pattern.
"Oh. Oh. That man!" Rael turned suddenly and rushed out. Izzo followed, hearing her voice echoing down the hall.
"Stop! Stop right there. Do nothing else to that bathroom. Stop. It's perfect."
Xen looked around with a quick flash of teeth. "What color would you like the upstairs bathroom to be?"
"White. It's a horrible stuffy little room with a microscopic window. Goldish, for subtle accents. Maybe." Rael scowled down at him. "Don't make me beat you up."
Another flash of teeth.
Ohse stepped down the hallway, came back looking thoughtful, and followed the crowd up the stairs.
Izzo looked from the stairs to Xen. "You like to live dangerously, don't you?" The young man had his eyes closed again, and didn't answer. Izzo looked at the floor. Solid grey in several shades; the crystals were not as large as in the bathroom floor. It didn't look like concrete. He drifted over to the vid monitors. The man there gave him barely a glance.
