Wine of the Gods 05: Spy Wars

by Pam Uphoff

  Spy Wars

  Pam Uphoff

  Copyright © 2012 Pamela Uphoff

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN

  978-0-9839469-5-3

  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.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Chapter Sixty-five

  Chapter Sixty-six

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Chapter Sixty-eight

  Chapter Sixty-nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-one

  Chapter Seventy-two

  Chapter Seventy-three

  Chapter Seventy-four

  Chapter Seventy-five

  About the Author

  Other Titles by the Author

  Excerpt from an Upcoming Release

  Prologue

  The first cross dimensional diaspora was nearly mythical.

  A few colonies, and the exile of the genetically engineered abominations so unwisely created by scientists.

  Fourteen centuries later, the second diaspora was well underway before the Earth first encountered another civilization with cross-dimensional abilities. Their immediate violent clash was followed by a combination of avoidance and probing for information.

  Now, both the Earth and the Empire of the One have laid claim to the same World, and are not about to back down and look weak.

  Pity about the native population, which had some odd idea about owning their own World.

  Chapter One

  17 Shawwal, 1362th Year of the Prophets / Fall 1360 local

  Empire of the One and Target World Forty-two

  "Target World Forty-two. Ice age world. Medieval civ. We've got a good solid contact with the ruler of the largest of five nations. The takeover operation is being run out of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs." The Subdirector's mouth pinched in disapproval. "But I've got, at present, two Action Teams and one Info Team assigned there. The Info Team just lost their fourth member." He shot his cuff and looked at his watch. "If you can catch the train, the position is yours." He extended two chips.

  Ajha tried to keep his grin under control. Field work! Then his eyes widened as he spotted the train time. "One! Thanks, Uncle Ajki!" He bolted out the door.

  The tram had never seemed slower, the other passengers more in the way, the train station was further uphill and the lobby larger . . .

  Ajha collapsed in a seat on the almost empty train as it pulled out, and tried to act like an experienced traveler as the maglev train picked up speed. He slotted the other card into his reader while he caught his breath. Hope I haven't been tossed into a real mess. He spotted the team members list . . .

  Two men in Directorate uniforms walked down the central aisle and stopped to eye him. They looked like typical One. Slight psychic glow; most One deliberately let their privacy shields leak, to avoid the insult of being mistaken for Multitude. These two looked like One, lighter than average hair and the one in front with blue eyes.

  "Would you happen to be Ajha Clostuone?" Blue eyes was giving him a good look over, physically and mentally.

  Ajha had grown up protecting himself from his Withione and Neartuone relatives, and didn't allow his shields to flex. Took a quick glance at his reader. "That's me. Would you be Idre Withione?" Employees of the Directorate, or any other government department, were not allowed to append their clan or subclan names to their personal names and ranks. But since they were all the descendants of the thirty-five Prophets (and their many native spouses), he could pretty well guess from their names—made up from the statistically most common genetically engineered segments they possessed—what talents they would be strongest in.

  They'd have known just from his name that he'd be tall and smarter than average. Of course, most of the genes were just cosmetic, and the name only gave you four of a possible twelve genetic insert packets . . .

  He didn't return the mental probe. Let them guess whether it was inability, caution, manners or tactics. The two years of Directorate training had been real eye openers for a kid who'd been sneered at all his life as a weakling Clostuone. He knew now that he could do damn near anything a Neartuone could do, and a surprising number of things he'd thought the sole province of the highest Withiones.

  The second man, lighter brown hair and brown eyes, frowned at him. "I'm Egto Neartuone, this is Team Leader Idre. How much experience do you have?"

  "Two short internships to Colony offices. This is my first real field assignment."

  Idre scowled. "Right. Just do what we do, only more carefully and more politely and you'll do fine. Have you had the whole brief?"

  "No, I was just given the destination, thirty seconds of verbal brief, and told to run for the train."

  Egto snorted. "Figures. Our fourth was suddenly pulled, and all we got was your name."

  Idre seated himself across the aisle from Ajha. "Here's what's happening. This world suffered a disaster sixteen thousand years ago, a major asteroid impact event. And then a second, smaller one, just about a thousand years ago. The surviving population is about half a billion people, all living in the western hemisphere. We've made contact with the Amma of Auralia, which encompasses both South and Central America and well up into North America.

  "Some local interests are blocking our negotiations. We're going to use the native customs to get around them. Women are very much second class, wives are kept away from the public. So Princess Rior Withione is going to marry the Amma."

  Ajha choked. "Marry!"

  Egto chuckled. "I
know, One don't marry natives. But in this case, the Princess—she's has complete training—will be able to hold his attention and negotiate from the harem, where no males will be able to go, to interrupt. Between the economic incentives and the influence she can ease into his mind, we'll have our position sewn up in a month or two."

  Idre nodded. "Then we'll start taking over the administration, organize the incorporation of the surrounding polities, and before the Amma gets his befuddled head cleared up, we'll be running the whole world."

  "I doubt it'll be that easy." Ajha protested. "What's the population? What percent is Auralia? What's the likelihood that 'incorporation' is going to take force, and how many wars are we looking at?" Not that the One won't win, but we do have to consider the probability of the natives resisting.

  Idre nodded approvingly. "Excellent, you understand the problems we're likely to run into. Those sorts of questions are why they want an Information Team on the ground."

  Egto grinned. "And our first priority is going to be tracking down rumors that the natives have magic of their own."

  “You are kidding me. Native mumbo jumbo? That could be amusing."

  “Indeed. There’s a widespread belief in the existence of magic, but you hardly ever see any evidence. The Amma has an advisor who is supposed to be very powerful magician, but no one’s seen any evidence of it. One of the other nations, the Kingdom of the West, has a 'King's Magician' on their list of top royal advisers. Here are all the reports, to date.” Idlo aimed his comp at Ajha’s; looked up as the train slowed. “You’ll have to read up later. Just keep quiet in the meeting.”

  "That's the Ambassador on the right, the officer he's talking to will be in charge of the training the native troops." Idre kept his voice low.

  Ambassador Alre had his shields up tight. His face was on the rugged side of ordinary. Ajha wouldn't have looked twice at him, on the street, if not for his hair. Ajha figured that long must be the style in Auralia. Eyeing the crowd, Ajha noted the general shagginess of the male cohort. Just as well I didn't have time for a hair cut; I fit right in. In fact, the room was a sea of men, with the sole woman turning away from a man in uniform to approach the Ambassador's circle.

  The Princess would have been beautiful even without the glow. Elegant, every move graceful, like part of a dance. Ivory blonde hair shimmered in a straight fall to her waist. Deep blue eyes in a perfect face. She was allowing just a bit of the glow of a trained Withione to show. She'd have all twelve of the Genetic insertion packets, each with the full complement of eighteen genes. As well as the One gene on both of her X chromosomes, of course. The One selected perhaps a third of all "princesses" for special training, and service. Ajha suspected this princess was one of the best.

  He was having trouble taking a deep breath. Barely whispered, "A native can't possibly resist her."

  Edlo nodded, and also kept his voice down. "She'll have that scrubby little Amma in the palm of her hand, instantly."

  Idlo frowned, and they shut up. Listened.

  "We'll have an Auralian Affairs Office set up within a few weeks." A man with short curly red hair was talking. "I'll stay in the office unless you need my assistance." He nodded to the Ambassador, turned and bowed to the Princess. No doubt he was immune to her impressive glow, since he was not just a Withione, but by his long, loose vest a Priest, one chosen and trained for advanced duties. In addition to his One Gene, he'd also have the Priest Gene on his Y chromosome—a mixed honor, as the full power of the gene could only be enabled by emasculation. The priest turned away from the princess and spoke to the uniformed man beside the Ambassador. "Commander, how fast do you think we can modernize the Amma's Army?"

  Egto leaned toward Ajha. "That's Ygti, the direct representative of the One. Ambassador Alde is appointed by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs."

  Ajha nodded. "The Director seemed a bit put out, to have us reporting to a Ministry Appointee." The three way balance of power written small. Because while the Directorates all answered to the President, the Ministries reported to the Council. And the One could, and on rare occasions, did, over-rule either or both of the two main branches of government.

  Idre hushed them.

  "They've got good discipline, their bow and arrow level tactics will need adjustment for the increased range and destructive ability, but it should go fast, once you have the treaties in hand. Three months for the elite units, a year to bring the rest of the Army up to reasonable standards. We should be able to take the Empire of Verona easily, with that much lead time. I'll study the reports as the Info Team sends them, we may want to secure the Cove Islands and their trading empire first."

  The commander's quick flick of a glance their direction was the first indication that any of the principles knew they were there.

  Ajha was quite happy to be overlooked, to just watch and listen.

  "So tentatively, if you can get the treaty signed inside of a year, we'll be ready to go in the spring of sixty-five. Or, by the local calendar, thirteen sixty-three. Very awkward, their dates being off of ours by two years. But I have to admit to the logic of starting the year on the winter solstice, instead of the first new moon after it. Some traditions really need to be changed."

  The priest nodded. "The One prefers to keep a few of the old Islamic traditions, even if the Prophets did convince the Imams to add ten days to the year. A year, even given the slow pace of royal weddings, should be sufficient for the negotiations." He stepped back to speak to the Princess, then drew her to a corner of the large room for a more private conversation. Lots of Servaones and Halfers moved about, getting ready to move to the Target.

  A younger red headed man slipped around the other groups and joined them.

  Idre nodded. "Wink, I was afraid you wouldn't make it."

  The man flashed a quick grin. "And miss all the fun?" His eyes looked Ajha up and down.

  "Ulxo's replacement."

  Idre kept his voice low. "Wnco Withione, this is Ajha Clostuone, fresh from a couple of brief embassy positions."

  "Call me Wink, stupid random ancestral initials . . . You've got an impressive shield for a Clostuone. What are your numbers?"

  Egto elbowed him. "Shh. No testing the new boy in public."

  Ajha kept a straight face. Withiones had all twelve genetically engineered insertion packets, with one complete set of one hundred and eight genes—eighteen on each insertion—and the second set lacking no more than four genes. The artificial insertions had a tendency to drop genes when undergoing meiosis. Neartuones had one complete set of six insertions. Clostuones had no complete sets, but at least three quarters of the total genes. Servaones had less. And all of them had the One Gene. The gene that enabled the collection of power, for the actual working of magic. With two hundred and five of the two hundred and sixteen special genes, Ajha was unusually talented. But he had matching gaps in both sets, dropped genes that meant he was, technically, registered as a Clostuone—literally "Close to the One" as opposed to "With the One," "Near the One" or "Servant of the One."

  The conversation at the head of the table veered to their budget, and how many gates they needed each month. "The Info Team's first job will be to buy land for the Embassy. Once we have a rail set up, the costs of each gate will drop . . . "

  They straightened at that, but no more information was forthcoming. The meeting broke up, with the rest of the Info Team hauling Ajha to a supply room and kitting him out with native garb, which ran to loose pants, shirts and either short vests or ornate sashes.

  "Head gear is optional." Wink grinned as he held out a turban and a head scarf. "You can go bare headed if you don't mind sunstroke."

  "I thought this was an ice age world." Ajha protested. Big Arab influence; I need to find room to read up on this world.

  "Fascia's pretty far south." Idre held up a golden sash, and dropped it in his own pile. "Roughly equivalent to Caracas. We brought back examples and pictures of native garb; the fabricators have been working overtime, since
then."

  "It'll be nice having modern fabrics." Egto sighed. "I had this red thing . . . the dye ran and tinted everything in the tub pink."

  Eventually, the Ambassador's group was organized (packed, more like) into odd vehicles, little more than wooden wagons with tiny electric motors. They drove across the threshold of the dimensional gate and onto a new world. The transition, barely shielded in the flimsy wagons, scraped his nerves and twisted his stomach. Ajha pressed lips together and controlled his stomach by sheer will power.

  The new world was a bleak, dry desert. Ajha was fascinated to find the personnel on the far side had brought horses to pull the wagons.

  "So, who knows how to drive a horse?" The Servaone in charge of the horses grinned as heads shook.

  Ajha had taken riding lessons as a kid, and relearned at the Directorate Training grounds—once he'd opted for exploration of parallel worlds it had become a necessary skill. He stepped up and started helping harness the horses to the flimsy wagons they'd brought.

  Driving two or four horses at once, as they pulled a wagon was new. He set himself to learn. Aldo Servaone was good with horses, and a good instructor. Tactful with the touchy egos of the Withiones and Neartuones. Ajha tried to mimic the others' haughty style, without actually being rude. Aldo just snickered and commented that he needed some practice.

  Ajha did a double take when he spotted people digging up the gate anchor.

  "The camp was meant to be temporary—we've always planned to abandon it as soon as we had facilities in the city of Fascia. At the start, distance was the best way to conceal our origins."

  Ajha eyed the long heavy plate they pulled out of the ground. "So we'll be out of touch with home until we can set it up well out of sight. The Ambassador said something about buying land for an embassy being our first job."

  "Yep. Then you lot will be able to come and go regularly, without alarming natives who might be a bit skittish about the "magically" appearing and disappearing people. I'll be homeward bound for leave and reassignment. Thank the One. I like working with the horses, but I never warmed up to the people here."

  It was a six day trip to Fascia, and Ajha considered himself an expert driver by the time he steered one of the wagons through the streets and into the walled courtyard of a hotel near the Palace.