by Pam Uphoff
And he was much more clued into the local tangle of customs, guilds, laws and corrupt officials at every level. Aldo laughed at his apprehension. "Just don't sell anything nor hire out to do any work and you'll be fine. Oh, and don't let the Action Teams lead you astray. They're . . . a bit wild, with no Directorate manager on world."
Ajha flicked a glance at the vehicle in the middle of their little caravan. The Princess's wagon was painted, and had elaborate designs, curtained windows . . .
"Oh, they won't touch Rior, or her entourage. But the native women . . . I know the One wants native Halfers to serve as a bridge across our cultures, a head start on a third generation that will produce some Oners . . . But I really don't like their means of spreading the genes around." Aldo shook his head. "Now go off and pretend to be stuck up and snobby."
Ajha grinned, and grabbed his luggage.
Clearly, they were known and expected at the hotel. Their own servants took over the cargo, the local workers led the horses away to the stables. Ajha took a good look at the rest of the embassy staff. Servaones and Clostuones. No Multitude, but a couple of the men looked to be Halfers. Everyone on this side would be a descendant of the Prophets, even if the Halfers had no power.
Ajha braced his shoulders and joined the 'upper class' half of their group. A lot of Oners thought Clostuones ought to be kept in the lower orders with the Servaones. He was going to have to tap dance around prejudices and put on a façade of that arrogance the Near and Withiones seemed to be born with.
Natives, servants working for the hotel, took their personal luggage. Ajha picked out the meanings of words despite the accents. Basic English sentence structures with a heavy addition of Arabic and Spanish terms. Close enough to the more mongrelized dialects of the multitude to sound almost familiar. He’d just have to remember to avoid the Hindu and Chinese derived terms he’d grown up with. The natives came in a rainbow of colors, including some startling combinations, oriental eyes with blonde hair, tawny golden skin with matching eyes and hair, dark skin with golden blonde hair. The dominant blonde was something that often cropped up in High Oners, with their genetic engineering. Perhaps the humans here had naturally evolved something similar to the Oner's Dominant Blonde gene.
Ajha sighed. He had one copy of the C16 insertion with the Dominant Blonde gene. Unfortunately the other had the Dominant Brown gene. The result was a washed out brown. Getting a bit thin on top, already. So much for Oner superiority. In hair.
The staff showed them to their rooms and fled. One of a group of men watching them laughed. "I'm Edmo Withione, Action Team Leader. Pay no attention to the staff, my people have them well in hand."
Idre nodded politely. "I am Information Team Leader Idre Withione, this is Egto Neartuone, Wnco Withione and Ajha Clostuone."
Edmo raised an eyebrow at that last, and ignored Ajha thereafter. Just the sort of thing Ajha was used to. He elevated his nose and stood straight.
"So, you lot spent six months on the ground?" Edmo eyed them.
"About that. Not much right here; the exploratory gate attached a thousand kilometers to the west. We checked out some of the smaller towns first. Had the accent right and enough knowledge of the world to sound legitimate before we got to the big city." Idre eyed them. "We've been on home leave for two months. You must have come fairly soon after we left."
"Yeah. C'mon, we'll give you a tour of the City." Behind Edmo, the other seven men started stirring, grins appearing.
Idre snorted. "A tour of the local fleshpots? No thank you."
Edmo laughed. "The brothels? Avoid them to do your duty for the One."
Ajha eyed the eight men cautiously.
One aspect of the generally unsavory reputation of Action Teams had to do with women. The teams tended to concentrate the men whose genetic mix of three of the Prophet's genes produced an abundance of rapists. Technically speaking. On One, the definition of rape was so tight for Oners that the crime essentially didn't exist. And of course on Native planets like this, the One wanted a cadre of young Halfers to train up as quickly as possible.
All of them grinned, together. "We're out every night. It's simple to influence thoughts, to get into as many beds as possible."
"They are just animals, what do they know or care about the parentage of the babies they produce? Do not make the mistake of growing fond of one. They are animals. Lower than the Multitude on our Home. Service them in the name of the One."
Egto and Wink looked a bit boggled, and Idre opaque. Ajha hoped he wasn't showing his own horrified reaction. Right, I know the natives aren't evolved and engineered to our status, but they are still human beings. Well, close enough. This lot have evolved to fit an agricultural society, and are starting to adapt to urban life. They aren't that far behind. The language similarities argue that they split from our world within the last four thousand years, possibly less than half that. I need to study their history, find out how Arabs came to colonize the western hemisphere. With the Spanish and English. But the heavy Arab influence is unusual.
They managed to confine their tour of the city to a selection of restaurants the Action Team liked. The staff of the one they ate in eyed the outsiders with trepidation, and a few puzzled frowns from the girl waitresses.
The fellow sitting next to Ajha smirked. "They almost remember us."
The food was spicy and different. Ajha had to force himself to eat it, as he felt the Action Team reaching out to influence the women around them.
A few of the team slipped away, came back looking sated.
Ajha gave up on the rest of his dinner.
He was glad to leave without any further forays by the Action Team.
The next day, Wink "casually" dropped a comment in the hearing of some of the Ambassador's staff.
"It almost makes those men fit to live with during the day," one of them wrinkled his nose.
"Yeah, but . . ." So much for the glory of the One, and the superiority of the descendants of the Prophets. Out every night raping natives. Ajha's stomach twisted as he tried to maintain an aloof and uncaring tone.
Egto snorted. "Well I guess that explains why so few of the staff are female."
"Oh yes. That just avoids a whole lot of unpleasantness altogether."
Ajha was appalled. Half of them are Withiones, the pinnacle of our society. The most powerful magicians. And no use excusing it on the basis of their genes, the genes of the Prophets are what we claim make us superior.
Ajha hid his feelings from the Action Team, and concentrated on his other duties. They quickly scouted out a good Embassy location. It involved several current landowners and a large number of tenants, none of whom were happy to be evicted. But as soon as the paperwork was done, and the purchase price paid—in gold bars, weighed and measured—they began to raze the miscellany of small houses and apartment buildings. The limitations of the gates dictated the layout of the Embassy grounds as they designed the compound. The long run, and braking spiral for the gate train dictated the locations of the buildings. It would all be surrounded by a stone wall, plastered and whitewashed to match the local architecture, and by next summer they could move from the hotel to the Embassy.
For now, the gate anchor was dug into spot well out of the public eye, and they were, however sporadically, back in touch with Home.
Chapter Two
Late Fall 1360
City of Fascia, capital of the Auralian Empire
Lieutenant Oscar Harryson slouched along the road, falling further behind the self-styled Ambassador 'of the One.' His current assignment—keeping an eye on Auralian military developments—was rapidly turning into a study of the Amma's new allies. Despite their accents and occasional use of incomprehensible words, the foreigners' word for their country sounded like the Scoone word for 'one' so he and Bran had fallen into the habit of calling them that. He spotted Bran ahead, arguing with a vendor about some fruit, and turned down an alley. He trotted quickly along until Bran contacted him with a quick flick of t
hought. :: He's turned right, and is looking over that big block that's being trashed and rebuilt.::
Oscar was familiar enough with the city to wind back through alleys, and get around to the far side of the mostly razed block. They were putting a tall wall around it. Oscar dug into his bag and swapped his orange sash for a leather belt and tied a white kerchief around his head, the ends dangling to shade his shoulders before he stepped out of an alley and sloped across the road, getting as close to the last remaining buildings as he could . . . in fact the windows were empty, so he slipped in and crossed the old hovel to peek out the other side. The Ambassador was just a dozen feet away, with a couple of guards as escort. They were all staring at the wall of the building, saying nothing. Waiting, but for what?
:: Bran, can you see them?::
:: Yes. There's nothing there. They're just . . . ::
Oscar gawped, as the trio visibly braced themselves before they strode forward and disappeared. He dropped his mental shields and probed. There wasn't anything there, and no people either. He climbed through a window and checked the ground. Three sets of footprints in the disturbed ground, the last ones a bit firmer, as if pushing off into a leap. Then nothing. There was a thick metal plate along the base of the wall. About ten feet long, a hair over a foot wide. The ground was too hard to check its thickness. Oscar retraced his steps, and met up with Bran for dinner. As usual they chose a restaurant far from the Oner's, and their own, regular daytime locations.
"Well, that was unexpected. Some sort of magic traveling."
Bran smiled at the serving girl and they ordered lamb kabobs and tea. The girl dimpled at them and scurried away. "I think she likes me."
"I think we're going to have to go home and see if any of the mages or wizards know about this kind of traveling and where those people could be from. It wasn't something they did, they stood there and waited for a signal or something."
"Could they be telling the truth? About being from the other side of the World?"
Oscar shrugged. "If they're from around here, they must be damn good scam artists."
"I'd be delighted to see the Amma get conned." Bran's eyes drifted. "Heads up, more of those Oners."
Oscar scooted back to give the girl room to set down plates and the pot of tea and glanced at the eight men. They were dim spots to his mental senses. Not the soft glow of most people, nor the brightness of an unshielded magician. They must be partially shielded. Hard to tell how strong they really are. Tall, running to muscle. Black or brown hair, dark eyes, heavy tans. They looked all of a type, but not a type they were familiar with. Too light for the Classic Auralian, hair too dark for the tawny Veronian type. Definitely not the bulky fair colored type found mostly in the west. Their eyes were not slanted like an Islander. One man they could write off as a mixture – after all, nearly everyone was. But this was a matched set. Wherever they were from, they were all appreciating their view of the girl's bottom as she set their dinners down. Oscar pulled his chair back up and poured his first cup of tea. "Guards, not Embassy staffers."
"Yeah. They're spooky, the way they tend to move together. Like a Compass that went too far and isn't releasing properly. Dad said that was really dangerous. Should we test them?"
Their eyes met and they both started grinning.
The Oners seemed to be sizing up the serving girls, with an occasional glance toward some of the female customers. By the time they'd eaten, the Oner's seem to have settled on a pair of customers and a pair of serving girls.
"They're still short four women." Brad commented, watching the Oner's eyes. "That is definitely spooky, they all look at the same woman at the same time." He smiled sunnily and raised his voice as the serving girl swung by. "Another pot of tea and two baklavas, please."
She smiled a bit mechanically, her eyes distracted.
Oscar had been eating with his eyes half closed, listening and watching magically. He kept his voice down. "She doesn't like the way they look at her, but they're sending out feelers. Suggestions. Not quite compulsions, yet. They're working over the other three as well. Sure seems to be heading for a gang rape, but how are they going to operate it?"
"Hey, they're splitting up now, so to speak."
For the first time Oscar saw the eight men moving independently. Their attention was now split between all four women, the front door and the kitchen. One man stood up and stepped out the back entrance where, in theory there was a privy, generally a shallow hole, filled in frequently. One of the serving girls ducked back into the kitchen, the other came out with their tea and sticky deserts.
Another Oner stepped out the back door, and he felt the Oners' magical potential unite and clamp down on everyone in the area, a spell of somnolence, indifference, inattention . . . He fought to keep his mind clear . . . but he was so tired, and it didn't matter that Bran had pulled the sharp little knife from his boot and nicked his right arm. Oscar winced as Bran kicked him under the table, and was able to pick up the knife and prick his own wrist. They grasped wrists, blood to blood, and wrenched at the spell.
Bran started muttering the basic Compass chants under his breath, and Oscar joined in shakily. Spells of clear mindedness countered some of the sensory and emotional blanket. Oscar reached, mentally pulled power from the heat of the air around them, and added that to the energy of their joined magic. Bran threw an Alertness spell and Oscar felt more of the dullness retreat. Eagle eye. The fog shifted, and he worked a mental shield under the remainder. Oscar leapt up, breaking the Compass, but clinging to the shield.
There were only two Oners still in the main room. Oscar leapt at the one by the front door and drove his fist into his stomach, then both hands together down on his neck. The second man tossed a spell, and Oscar diverted it easily. As the Oner rushed past, Bran stuck his foot out, then threw a stun spell.
A third and fourth Oner rushed in the back door, and Oscar and Bran hoofed it out the front. They turned right and ran straight into a pair of the strangers. The first one was still trying to fasten his pants. Bran kicked his crotch and drove a fist against the back of his head to assist his encounter with the road dirt. The second Oner backpedaled and threw spells. Two to one it was no contest. Then the leader sprinted from the far side and the three others burst out of the restaurant's front door to change the odds rather nastily. Oscar tossed fireballs and Bran tried slices alternating with stun as they both retreated. The air was getting deathly cold, robbed of energy to feed their magic. They turned and ran. There was a point where the kinetic energy of air was exhausted, and they were experienced enough to move before that happened. So close to the Equator, there was little seasonality, and the air was warming within a few strides.
Their link was still close enough for Bran to drop his physical shield, trusting Oscar to handle that and he stiffened the mental shield, and tried trip and spin on the Oners.
Spin caught for just a moment. Oscar got a fear spell through, and then they were around another corner and sprinting. The late evening crowd at the market was thick enough to get lost in, and they both swapped accessories and closed down their mental shields until they gave a very close approximation of the mental feel of a normal person.
With a quick change of headgear, Bran stopped to admire a horse. Oscar stopped a few stalls further on to haggle for some oranges. He spotted three of the men scanning the crowd. Bran shook his head and strolled away. Even odds whether the missing men were guarding their fallen comrades, or reporting back to higher authorities at top speed. He strolled past Oscar and turned for the harbor. Oscar sighed, and admitted that Bran was right. There was a point when it was time to leave, and this was it. They'd rented a room, always paying a week ahead, and were on good enough terms with the maids to have arranged to stash their stuff in between trips. So there was even a chance their extra clothing would be put away for their next trip, when the maids realized they weren't coming back.
They needed to report home anyway, and tonight they'd bitten off a bit more than t
hey'd planned on. The eight men had been well trained and reacted quickly to being attacked. Best give the Oners nothing to find for awhile, then return and take up studying them again.
The third boat they tried, the captain was happy to take a fast run to the west, and do his fishing on the way back, with money in his pocket.
Chapter Three
30 Shawwal, 1362yp / Late Fall 1360 local
Fascia, Auralian Empire, Target World Forty-Two
Ajha tried to concentrate on the noisy recording, and ignore the hand-wringing and apologetic tech behind him.
". . . so much static on this world we don't use, nor regularly bother monitoring the radio frequencies. We just use a few high frequencies for our own communications."
Ajha jacked his computer into the replay, got his own selection of filters lined up and tried to pull the information from the background static of the recordings. He still could only distinguish the occasional word. But as more and more 'occasional words' built up, so did the inescapable conclusion. "Sir, every single word I can distinguish is English, French, German or Russian derived. The Earthers are here. Somewhere."
"One! That's a complication—no, it's a nightmare. We have absolutely no desire to have another armed confrontation with those people."
Ajha looked over at the tech. "Can you get any direction from this mess?"
"No, Info, it's bouncing off the ionosphere. 'Not near' is as good as I can do."
Idre and Egto bustled in, then. They looked irritated to have been out of pocket when something happened.
Ajha clued them in quickly. "Radio transmissions, poor quality, probably Earther." Then he returned his attention to the recordings and tried to draw conclusions from the collection of words. The assortment was unlikely to be random, in fact directions and distances stood out. A lot of "They are" They, not it. "Beat" "Capture," or maybe recapture.
