Baen Books Free Stories 2017

by Baen Books

  She thought about that a moment. "You mean if there's a metawave spike inside one of those, it's . . . spread out. Distributed over a larger area."

  "And maybe even to other separated areas like this, that were built by the same people. So you'll pick up a general metawave spike over the whole region, but it'll be so defocused that you can't localize it."

  "I see." She gestured for him to get out of her chair, and sat down when he had done so. Then she looked up at him and let her face go cold. "And you've known this for two weeks?"

  "You just had us on standby, Director. You didn't give us this assignment. We did it on our own—"

  "I am the Crisis Director for this entire situation, Agent Miller." She rose slowly and glared into his eyes—which were on a level with her own. "We are dealing with a threat of at least Class Seven, and we have reason to believe a Class TEN is behind this. Any information of substance is to be given to the Crisis Director immediately upon receipt of that information."

  Miller's expression wasn't apologetic—he wasn't even showing the oh crap that someone should when they'd been caught out. He looked defiant.

  "What, Miller? You thought if you came to me with this, I'd be so happy to see some kind of progress that I wouldn't notice? Or I'd leave it aside because I didn't want to get in a pissing contest with you and whoever your supporters up the line are?"

  "Your people haven't found anything, Director. Mine, who you just had sitting around on their thumbs, were able to figure this out."

  "You know, I'll give you that one point. I should have asked what other things I could have them do, but honestly? The last thing I would have wanted to do is break them up and spread them out doing this kind of work. What if we had had a manifestation while your teams were playing survey crew?"

  He opened his mouth and she cut him off with a savage slash of her hand. "But the rest of it? That's pure office-politics bullshit, Miller, and you're playing with this when the world could end up burning? What was the worst thing you ever faced, Agent? Class three? Four? Maybe even a Five? I've had two Sevens, maybe a Seven and Eight, right here, and I don't have time for your crap."

  Now his expression was ugly—there was a hint of fear there, awareness that he might have gone too far, but there was also defiance and arrogance and contempt. "What? Listen, Kisaragi, I've been out there face-to-face with things that'd suck your brain out of your eye sockets, psychoactive threats that'd turn you into an automaton, metawave manifestations that didn't even have a physical body to shoot at. I've seen your file, and I know –"

  "Shut the hell up." She said it quietly but with such vehemence that Miller cut off. "You haven't seen my whole file, and you're not cleared for that. You haven't the faintest idea of what I've seen 'out there,' so just shut up. You've been going around subtly dismissing me ever since you got here, Miller, and I've had it. You're going to straighten up and fly right, starting right now, or I am picking up that phone and so help me God I will call Sir John Covenant direct about you."

  It was interesting to see the shifts in expression that passed over Miller's face. But to his credit, it took only a moment before he had it under control, and there was now very little sign of anger or contempt. "Sir John? Seriously?"

  "He put you under my command explicitly, Agent Miller. He wants me in charge. I'm not sure I want it, but I have it, and I'll be damned if people who are supposed to be on my side are going to be a problem. Are you going to be a problem, Agent Miller?"

  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, opened them. "No, ma'am. No, Director Kisaragi, I will not be a problem. My apologies, Director."

  She nodded. He's still pissed, probably doesn't really respect me much, but he does respect Sir John Covenant, and if he's smart he's probably scared of him. Time to see if I can make this work out better. "Good. I'll ignore the delay, then. Thank you for bringing this to my attention now. This is very good work. I'll note that in my report and give you and your team credit. Anyone besides you and Keldering I should single out?"

  A flicker of his eyes showed a hint of surprise, but Miller then switched to a thoughtful expression. "Umm . . . Maybe Agent Harshaw; she noticed the blurring first."

  "Think about it and get back to me if there's any others; my next report goes out in, um, two days, so there's a little time. Do you have any more on this? How many places are affected? Anything on their distribution?"

  "We're working on that . . . I'll send all the data to your people so they can help out; maybe they'll have some ideas." It was an obvious concession, a peace offering. Not much of one, of course, because she would've just ordered that kind of sharing, but still, he was being proactive.

  "Sounds good."

  "But . . . we think it's still ongoing. We're pretty sure that there were new areas added in the last couple of weeks."

  Ah. "Damn. Someone involved is going around and deliberately making it difficult to impossible to localize them. They're thinking way ahead."

  "Either that," Miller said, "Or they already knew they had an adversary that might track them down."

  "You're probably right. Okay, Agent, I—"

  The scream of the metawave alert sent her out her door and into the main office without a pause. "Talk to me, everyone, what've we got?"

  "Major spike, Director!" Owen Marsters was bent over the computer. "Backtracking shows there was a slow rise to high metawave readings preceding it, but then it really took off just now. Metawave sensors pinpoint it at Target One!" He looked up, as did the others, and they were grinning.

  "Well, hot damn, Director," Hughes said. "You nailed it!"

  "Grab up your stuff and go, people!" she said, but felt her own smile spreading. "That means it's just a couple hundred yards from our door!"

  As she dragged her field kit out, Miller asked, "What's Target One, and what did they mean by 'nailing' it?"

  "I made a guess—gut instinct, I guess you'd call it. Our 'Princess Holy Aura' is a mid-teen, near as we can tell. The two prior manifestations were shopping malls—one outdoor strip mall, one indoor." She yanked on the armor, made sure the metaseals were secure as she locked it in place.

  "So?"

  "So I guessed that Holy Aura was going to be at the center, near most of these manifestations. And now that we're into the fall, where are you going to find a fifteen or sixteen year old girl most often?"

  Miller was not slow; Agents couldn't afford to be. "A school," he said almost instantly, and his smile held a new note of appreciation. "Thus where you chose your new headquarters."

  "We are a couple of hundred yards from Whitney High School, which was the closest high school to Twin Pines and one of two close to Palonia Mall."

  She checked her sidearm, then strode towards the door. "Maybe—just maybe—we'll get to catch our target!"

  The alarm howled again. "Holy shit," Owen said. "Second spike, as big as the first, and the levels are holding."

  "What's the level at?"

  "Total metawave levels at . . . holy crap . . . twenty-two thousand."

  Miller's eyes were wide as they met hers.

  "I'll have my teams there pronto," he said, and his cell was in his hand even before he sprinted out the door.

  Her own team was frozen for a moment, staring at her.

  She took a breath and waved them forward. "Come on, people," she said. "It's time for us to save the world!"

  The End (for now…)

  Block Party

  Sharon Lee and Steve Miller

  The lights were on at the Wayhouse, which was still enough of a novelty that Algaina paused after she'd unlocked the shop door to look at it. Wasn't many got up as early in the day as she did, an' the Wayhouse . . . well, it was a wayhouse, wasn't it? Always had been, back to when the Gilmour Agency ran Surebleak. Wasn't meant but to give a newbie on the street someplace in outta the snow to sleep while they got themselves sorted an' settled.

  This new batch of folks'd been in maybe four, five days, an' every morning, when Gaina
opened the shop, there was the light. Made her feel a kinda warm pleasureableness, that she wasn't awake alone in the dark.

  Well.

  She shook herself and turned back to the shop, her thoughts still half on the Wayhouse. According to the neighbors, there were at least four kids living there, but not one of 'em come in to her shop for sweets. Might be they was shy. She wondered if she oughta take a plate o'cookies up, whatever was left over, when the shop closed. Introduce herself. Find out who was awake so early, every day, and what they did in the dark hours.

  * * *

  Algaina was in the back, getting the batch of sparemint cookies outta the oven, when she heard the bell on the front door ring out, which would be Luzeal, comin' in for her hot 'toot and warm roll before headin' down to Boss Conrad's territory an' the archive project. Luzee was always her first customer, ever since the first day she opened up.

  "Be right out!" she called. "Got somethin' I want you to taste."

  Wasn't no answer from the front room, which was typical; Luzee needed a cup o'toot to make her civilized.

  Algaina closed the oven door, and stepped back into the shop, sliding the tray onto the counter, and looking 'round.

  It wasn't Luzee who was her first customer this morning; it was Roe Yingling, who wasn't zackly a stranger—she let him run a ticket, after all—but nowhere near a reg'lar.

  Algaina wasn't that fond of Roe, but he was a neighbor, and aside from having loud opinions at inconvenient times, he didn't stint the street.

  "Mornin'," she said, giving him a nod. He'd already drawn himself a cup and was sipping it gingerly, wanting the warmth against the cold, but not wanting to burn his tongue. "You're up early."

  He nodded around a sip from the cup.

  "Word on the street's they're hiring over Boss Kalhoon's territory, long-term labor. Gonna go over an' see what I can get."

  "Hadn't heard that," Algaina said; "good luck with it."

  "Need it all, an' then some," Roe said, leaning over the pot and topping off his cup. "Body's gotta be quick if they wanna grab a job before a newbie gets it."

  That was Roe's biggest and most frequent complaint, right there, Algaina knew. Not that there'd been that much work, the way things'd been fixed before Boss Conrad showed up to sort Surebleak out, which it—and they—surely had needed. Breaking up the old ways hadn't made work so much as it made time and room for 'bleakers to be able to roll up their sleeves and get on with what needed doin'.

  The newbies, they'd followed the Boss to Surebleak, and they were a point of contention. So far's Algaina knew or saw, they was just as willing to work as any 'bleaker, an' somewhat more'n others. They come in with off-world skills, certain enough, but they wasn't 'bleakers. They didn't know what work needed done before that other piece o'work could get done, or necessarily how the weather played in—stuff that 'bleakers knew by instinct. Mostly, the work was team-based, 'bleaker and newbie, and plenty too much for everybody.

  Still, there was a certain class of streeter, of which Roe Yingling was one, who wanted to have it that the newbies was taking work away from them, an' there wasn't nothing could convince 'em otherwise.

  All of which was worth hopin' that Roe got work today.

  "You better get movin," Algaina said. "Early worker 'presses the boss."

  Roe nodded at her.

  "Zackly what I'm thinkin'. Need a couple rolls to have in m'pocket for lunch," he said. "What was that you wanted me to taste?"

  Well, she hadn't wanted Roe tastin' her sparemint, she'd wanted Luzee. Still, she'd said the words and he'd heard 'em—an' it couldn't hurt to have another opinion.

  "Here go," she said, holding out the tray. "Take one o'them and let me know what you think. Something new I'm thinking about adding in."

  He took a cookie—not quite the biggest—and bit into it, eyes narrowed.

  While he was chewing, she got his two rolls, and wrapped 'em up in paper against the probable condition of the inside of his coat pocket. He took another bite, and was ruminatin' over it, when the bell rang, and a kid scooted in, let the door bang closed behind her—and stopped, big-eyed, and shivering, taking stock.

  Algaina considered her: too young to be out by herself before the sun was up. She was wearing a good warm sweater, pants and boots, but no coat or hat. Her hair was reddish brown and hung in long tangles down below her shoulders.

  "Sleet," muttered Roe, not nearly quiet enough for a kid's ears to miss; "it's one a them."

  Algaina frowned at him, but he was staring at the kid, cold as she was, an' tryin' to decide if she liked where she found herself.

  Of a sudden, a big grin lit up her thin face. She rushed up to the counter, dodging under Roe's elbow, and addressed herself at length to Algaina in a high, sweet voice.

  Algaina frowned and held up a hand.

  "Slow down, now, missy. My ears ain't as young as your tongue."

  The girl frowned, reddish brows drawing together 'til there was a crease 'tween 'em, her head tipped to one side. Finally, she raised her right hand palm out, like Algaina had raised hers, and said, "Slow down."

  "That's right," Algaina told her with a nod. "Now whyn't you tell me what you just said—slow enough so I can hear it."

  "Goomorn," the girl said obediently; "beyou manake—baneken—cookies!"

  The last word came out as a triumphant shout, like it was the only one she was sure of, thought Algaina. On the other hand, if you only had one word, it was pretty smart to be sure it paid out profits right away.

  "That's right," she said. "I bake cookies. You want one?"

  "You gonna feed it?" Roe asked, still not botherin' to keep his voice down.

  Algaina glared at him.

  "Feedin' you, ain't I?"

  He opened his mouth, and she shook her finger at him.

  "You finish that cookie, Roe Yingling, and get yourself goin' or you'll miss all the good jobs!"

  He blinked—and shoved the rest of his cookie into his mouth.

  Algaina turned back to the kid. Out from the Wayhouse, sure enough. Looked like somebody at home'd moved their eyes for a half-second, and she decided to go splorin'. Algaina's kid had done the same when he'd been what she guessed was this one's age. Scared her to death, so it had, until she found him wandering the street, or a neighbor brought him back.

  Best thing to do, really, was to keep her 'til whoever was prolly already looking for her came by.

  So.

  Algaina bent forward some and caught her eye.

  "You want a cookie?" she asked again.

  The girl blinked.

  "Cookie," she asserted.

  "Comin' right up," Algaina said, and chose a nice big sparemint from the tray. She held it down across the counter. "You try that and tell me how you like it."

  The girl took the cookie from her hand with a solemn little bow, and bit into it, her eyes squinched in concentration.

  "Gaina," Roe began, low-voiced.

  "Later," Algaina told him.

  Roe took a hard breath, an amount of stubborn coming into his face, and who knows what he might've said next, except the bell rang again, and in come a boy wearing an oversized flannel shirt over a high-neck sweater, good tough pants, and worn-in boots, carrying a bright red coat over one arm. He caught the door, and eased it closed, the while his eyes were on the kid.

  "Elaytha."

  She spun on a heel, and threw up her arms, nibbled cookie still in one hand.

  "Donnnee!" she cried, rushing toward him.

  He didn't bend down to take her hug, nor even smiled, just stood there with his arms folded, and a frown on his face.

  She stopped, arms falling to her sides, cookie still gripped tight.

  "Elaytha," he said again, and held out the coat. "It is cold. You wear this when you go out. Also, you frightened your sister."

  His voice was level; his accent marked, but understandable.

  The response to this was a burst of words as musical as they were unintelligible—whi
ch was cut off by a sharp movement of the boy—no, Algaina thought; not a boy. A man grown, only a little short and scrawny, like they was.

  "In Terran, Elaytha," he said, still in that stern, solemn voice. "We speak Terran here."

  "Pah," the girl said, comprehensively. She advanced upon her—brother, at a guess, Algaina thought—cookie extended.

  "You try that," she said, her inflection and accent Algaina's own; "and tell me how you like it."

  "Yes, very well." He took the cookie, and thrust the coat forward. "You will put this coat on," he said sternly. "Now, Elaytha."

  She sighed from the soles of her boots, but she took the coat and shoved first one arm, then the other into the sleeves.

  "Seal it," her brother—Donnie—said in that same tone.

  Another sigh, but she bent her head, and began to work on the fastenings.

  He watched her for a moment to be sure she was in earnest, then raised his head to meet Algaina's eyes. His were dark brown, like his hair.

  "We watch her," he said, in his careful Terran, "but she is very quick."

  She grinned at him.

  "I remember what it was like, raising my boy," she said. "Yours looks like another handful."

  He tipped his head, eyes narrowing, then nodded slightly.

  "A handful. Indeed. I am happy that she came no further, and hope you will forgive this disturbance of your peace."

  "No disturbing done. Bakery's open for bidness. I'm glad she come inside. It's cold this morning, even for born streeters like us." She nodded at Roe, who hissed lightly, and turned away to pick up the wrapped rolls.

  "Thanks, Gaina," he said. "On my ticket, right?"

  "Right," she told him, and watched him push past the girl and the man without a nod or a glance, goin' out the door into the lightening day.

  "You have a taste of that cookie and lemme know what you think," Algaina said brightly, to take attention away from Roe bein' so rude. "New recipe; just trying it out the first time."