Eric Flint's Blog, page 177

Darkship Revenge – Snippet 32

Darkship Revenge – Snippet 32

I thought they were walking oddly.  Laz tripped on his feet more than once, and Morgan looked like he was dizzy.  I thought the long trip was telling on them.  It had come on top of a lot of effort and fighting and fear.  Surely they’d been afraid of coming to Earth.  Because it was a different and scary place, if nothing else.  But they’d slept most of the way here.  How hadn’t that made a difference?

It wasn’t until Simon, in his own inimitable style, was giving them a speech which included such concepts as “no one here will have any way to fly out, and you really can’t walk out through miles and miles of desert” and “If you behave, we’ll find a way to negotiate your request” that I could no longer fool myself nothing was wrong.

I couldn’t fool myself because Morgan, facing Simon and looking, as the other two, half asleep and barely able to stand on his feet, suddenly threw up.

Lucius was the first to rush up, again giving proof that indeed he’d become used to child care, supporting the young man, feeling his forehead.  “What is wrong?” he’d asked.  “Something not agreeing with you?”

Morgan had tried to answer and thrown up again.  His skin had gone very pale, in contrast with the blue-dyed hair.

Then Thor had lost consciousness, sinking in a heap on the floor, and Laz leaned against the trunk of a tree and said, “My head hurts very badly.  Please –”

In the end we took them to one large room, wrestled three beds in and put them to bed.

By we I mean the men.  I wasn’t even allowed near the boys, not that I was making any great effort to get close.

“You and the baby must stay clear of contagion,” Simon had said. And Kit had sided with him.

“It’s possible the boys are just sick from exposure to Earth viruses,” he said.  “On the other hand it is possible they’re sick from something they brought with them.  Who knows what mutations would appear and survive in the enclosed and circumscribed space of an interstellar ship?”  And for a moment, for just a moment in my husband’s face, there was a look of intense curiosity.  As though he’d like to collect samples and find out what those viruses were.

He was a pilot, raised to fly darkships to collect powerpods from the powertree ring.  He’d never shown any interest in biology till his mind had been cross-pollinated with Jarl’s after Kit was shot in the head and the imprint of Jarl’s brain used to restore his mind.  Supposedly most of this had been reversed, leaving just Kit’s brain.  But I couldn’t figure out how that could be true.  There would be no way to fully pull the memories apart.  The personality, maybe could be neutralized and stopped from coalescing.  But the memories?  It would be like pulling apart two sand piles.

Now and then I caught glimpses of a curiosity or interest or of knowledge left behind by Jarl’s imprint.  Jarl had been a world-bestriding biologist, after all, maybe the greatest of them all. He was credit with creating the powertrees, biological solar collectors which survived in Earth orbit, and also with having created several of the – reviled – physical mutations during the war between the Seacities and the land states.  He’d created, they said, humans who could breathe under water.  Mind you, no one had ever found any proof of that, but it was one of the things they’d said he’d done, and if true it was not just insane, but a great achievement as well.

I certainly had no curiosity about the viruses either from an interstellar ship or from Earth and no interest at all in anything but keeping my small family safe.  Marriage and motherhood had expanded my focus, from wishing to save myself to wishing to keep Kit and Eris safe too.  The idea of living on without them was scarcely bearable.  Rather death than that.

But I didn’t feel the need to expand it more than that.  I didn’t wish harm to the boys, nor to Luce, nor to Simon.  No, revise that, I’d been sincerely grieved when I thought that Simon had died.  It would grieve me if the boys died too.  And I would do what I could to keep Luce alive if only because Nat was my friend and Nat loved Lucius.  But the first essential point was to keep me, Kit and Eris alive.

Simon and Lucius left us alone with the boys after a couple of hours.  Both of them had duties and an already overlong absence to explain.  They could not stay with us to babysit the young invaders, even if the young men were very ill.  This made it impossible to keep Kit away from the contagion.  They tried to keep me away but it didn’t work.

You see, when two people need to be helped to a bathroom where they can throw up, and the third is burning up with fever and needs water, it’s impossible to keep any of three adults safely away.

Not that it mattered.  If this was – as became clear when they started coughing – a type of flu, an airborne disease, then I wasn’t safe anyway.

The night became something of a death march, a walking nightmare.  I was thrown up on twice.  Laz, the oldest of them, was burning with fever, and seemed to obsess about the other two and about someone called Pol. He muttered and struggled, in fear they had been “caught” or were in trouble somehow. It was difficult enough keeping him in bed, but if he got up, he’d blunder around like a sleep walker, walking into walls and into beds, hurting himself and getting in the way.

The other two seemed to throw up more, which both challenged us to keep them hydrated and to keep them clean.

I’d scouted the place and found my way into a storage room where someone had stored shelf upon shelf of the sort of courtesy things one might give guests of a resort: pajamas in various sizes, toothbrushes and other toiletries; slippers; extra blankets.  I’d also found sheets, intact in the lower layers, though the top ones were grey with dust.

I have no idea what fabric the sheets and clothing were made of.  They felt like the best silk, but they must be synthetic, or they would not have survived three hundred years. I think.  Not that I’d ever studied the survival of cloth.

Whatever they were, we went through all of them at a prodigious rate.  We’d get the boys more or less cleaned, then wrestle them into clothes, and then they’d throw up again or sweat so hard they looked like they’d been dipped in water.

In the middle of all this, I would nurse Eris, and change her when she cried, though I had to let her cry a while, since I needed to clean myself before touching her.  I wanted to try to diminish the chances of contagion, but knew most of what I was doing was, at best, cosmetic.

And just when we thought they’d never come to an end of the spewing, we found that what came after was worse, as they lay on the bed, sweating, eyes bright and unseeing, as their temperature climbed.  Even Laz quit his fretting and his moving, which was good, since the beds we’d moved in here were the narrow beds that had probably been allotted to servants.  Easier to move, and easier to have three of them in one room, but not big enough for someone of Laz’s build.  His movement shook the weak ceramite frame, and when he threw the covers from him, he almost overturned the bed.

But I didn’t like the looks of the boys.  I ransacked the place looking for medicines, but found nothing beyond things for headaches and band aids.  Nothing that helped bring down a fever.

Fuse had got bags, and found a machine that could be coaxed into operating and producing ice.  I wondered if it had been meant to produce ice.  I was starting to think that Fuse had the same innate mechanical ability I had.  What he’d done with the serving bot back in Syracuse, and now, his managing to make something make ice seemed miraculous, not just for him, but for anyone.  In the time I’d spent here, most of the servos and robots I’d found were decayed beyond help.

He had filled the bags with ice and packed them around the boys.  This seemed to help keep their temperature down, but it added another round to our duties.  In my case, a third round: check on the boys.  Change out the bags filled with melted ice, try to force some water down their throats, then see if Eris needed me.  We’d put Eris in a room next to the boys’ room, and brought two beds together for Kit and myself.

 

Gods of Sagittarius – Snippet 32

Gods of Sagittarius – Snippet 32

CHAPTER 19

The hatch opened, the ramp lowered, and Tabor and Shenoy began walking down to the ground.

“That must be a Paskapan,” suggested Shenoy, nodding toward the uniformed creature that stood a few feet from the ship. It was tripodal but possessed only two arms, it had two eyes and only one nostril in its flat noseless face, it had coarse hair on its cheeks but none on its head, and when it smiled at them it flashed a set of bright orange teeth.

“Welcome to Cornfield!” it greeted them with a snappy salute.

“Cornwallis IV,” replied Shenoy.

“Whatever,” said the Paskapan with a shrug. It held out a six-fingered hand. “May I have your disembarkation fee, please?”

“I beg your pardon?” said Shenoy, frowning.

“Five credits each,” said the Paskapan.

“But we just paid thirty crugmos to land,” complained Shenoy.

“True,” agreed the Paskapan. “And if you wish to remain in your ship for the duration of your stay, then indeed you owe us nothing further.”

“But –”

“Forget it,” said Tabor, pulling a ten-credit note out of his pocket and handing it over. “My treat.”

“Thank you,” said the Paskapan.

“You guys move from crugmos to credits pretty damned fast,” continued Tabor.

“If you wish to pay in crugmos that will be perfectly acceptable,” was the reply. “But I can’t do the math.”

“Forget it. Let’s just get this show on the road.”

“Ah! You want a road?” replied the Paskapan. “Then you will need a vehicle. They are available for –”

“Figure of speech,” said Tabor. He looked around at the mostly-empty spaceport. “What now?”

“Now you pass through Customs, of course, and then Pippibwali will be your guide and intermediary.”

“We don’t want a guide,” said Shenoy.

“Certainly you do,” said the Paskapan.

“I have expensive maps of the planet, plus reports from previous expeditions,” said Shenoy. “We really do not need a guide.”

The Paskapan shrugged. “Well, if you think you can afford it . . . ”

“Afford what?” demanded Shenoy.

“Not having a guide.”

“I don’t believe I’m following you,” said Shenoy, frowning.

“You don’t follow me, good sir. You will follow Pippibwali.”

“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” said Shenoy. “It will cost us more to go out alone than with a guide?”

“Of course.”

“That is the dumbest thing I ever heard!” growled Shenoy.

“Quite the contrary,” responded the Paskapan. “If I were a visitor, I might well feel the way you do. But as an inhabitant of Cornstalk, I believe in making every effort to achieve full employment.”

Shenoy turned to Tabor. “What do you think, Russ?”

“I think it makes sense that they have three legs,” answered Tabor with a sardonic smile.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It would make sense to any Finn.”

“Ah,” said Shenoy, nodding in agreement. “It would at that.”

“Follow me, please,” said the Paskapan. “We’re wasting time.”

“And time is money, right?” said Tabor.

The Paskapan shot him the equivalent of a smile. “I like that!” he said. “Brilliant, witty, incisive. I think I shall begin using it.”

“Ten credits per usage,” said Tabor.

The smile was replaced by a frown. “You’re assimilating too damned fast,” he growled, leading them to a small building perhaps one hundred yards away.

They entered, and walked up to a counter, where a uniformed Paskapan was awaiting them.

“Welcome to . . . whatever you call this place in your primitive tongue,” he said. “May I see your passports, please?”

Shenoy and Tabor each placed his right hand on the counter.

“I am waiting,” said the Customs officer.

“We’re presenting them, damn it!” snapped Shenoy.

“All I see are your hands.”

“Well, what the hell did you expect to see?” demanded Shenoy. “Our passport chips have been inserted in the back of our hands. This is commonplace all across the galaxy. Surely you have a machine that can read them.”

“Ah!” said the Customs officer. “You want me to activate the machine!”

“If that’s what it takes for us to pass through here and be on our way, then of course I want you to do whatever is necessary!”

“Here it comes,” whispered Tabor to Shenoy.

“It is a very complex machine,” explained the Customs officer, “and uses an inordinate amount of power.”

“How much?” asked Shenoy wearily.

“How much power?” repeated the Customs officer. “Would that be measured in ergs, quapostes, morsimmots, or perhaps in–?”

“How much will it cost?”

“Your race uses credits, does it not?”

Tabor resisted an urge to name an ancient currency such as dollars or rubles. “Yeah, credits.”

“Five thousand credits,” said the Customs officer.

“Fuck it!” snapped Tabor. “We’re going home!”

Shenoy turned to him in shock, but Tabor winked at him.

“Just a minute!” said the Customs officer hastily. “I misread the decimal point. The fee is fifty credits.”

Tabor turned his back and took two steps toward the door. “And for your inconvenience, this one time the fee is five credits.”

Tabor smiled, waited until he could present a straight face again, then turned around, walked back to the counter, and laid a five-credit note on it.

“You look so honest we’ll forego passport inspection and all other formalities,” announced the Customs officer. “Just pass right through that doorway, and you’ll find your guide waiting on the other side of it.”

“Thank you,” said Shenoy, heading forward the doorway. “And as for the five-credit fee, don’t worry. Our lips are sealed.”

“They are?”

Shenoy nodded. “Absolutely.”

“I could sell you sold antiseptic balm that is almost guaranteed to unseal them for just twenty credits.”

“Some other time,” said Tabor, taking Shenoy by the arm and leading him through the doorway.

A Paskapan was awaiting them, and immediately gave them a salute.

Well, at least his hand’s not out reaching for money, thought Tabor.

“Greetings, honored sirs,” said the Paskapan. “I am Pippibwali.”

“I’m Tabor, and this gentleman is Sir Rupert.”

“It will be my pleasure to show you around Corncob,” said Pippibwali.

“Last time you mentioned it, it was Cornfield,” said Tabor.

“Was it?”

“And we explained that it was Cornwallis IV. But why don’t we call it what your people call it?”

“That’s very considerate of you,” answered Pippibwali, “but of course you couldn’t pronounce it.”

“Try me.”

“Very well,” said the Paskapan. “It is Bort.”

“Bort?” repeated Tabor with a frown.

“Oh, very good, sir!”

“You must not think very much of us if you thought we couldn’t pronounce a word like Bort.”

“It’s Bord, sir.”

“I could have sworn you said Bort,” replied Tabor.

“I did,” replied Pippibwali.

“But–?”

“It changes a lot,” answered Pippibwali. “Linguistic evolution in action, you might say.”

“You might say it,” said Tabor.

“I just did.”

“All right. We’re here to see certain parts of Bord.”

“It’s Born now, sir,” replied Pippibwali.

Tabor resisted the urge to take a swing at the Paskapan. “Just for convenience we’re going to continue referring to it as Bort.”

“If you insist, sir, but –”

“And if you tell me there’s a charge for calling it Bort, I will cut your heart out and happily pay that penalty instead.”

“Bort it is, sir!” said Pippibwali hastily. “Bort it is.”

“Thanks, Pippi,” said Tabor. “I’m glad to see we understand each other.”

“If you think my name is Pippi, we do not understand each other as well as you think, sir.”

 

Gods of Sagittarius – Snippet 31

Gods of Sagittarius – Snippet 31

CHAPTER 18

Tabor looked at the viewscreen at the red-brown world that seemed almost naked without any moons. The planet’s surface was mottled here and there by large, darker-colored mounds. The remnants of ancient shield volcanoes, most likely. That suggested the planet lacked plate tectonics, which would be a good thing so far as preserving really old ruins was concerned.

“Not much to look at, is it?” he remarked.

“We’re not here on a sightseeing trip,” replied Shenoy.

Tabor continued studying the screen, and the small readout beneath it.

“Got a question, Rupert,” he said. “Just how many Old Ones do you think there are?”

Shenoy shrugged. “There can’t be too many, not at this late date.”

“And you’re sure they’re on Cornwallis IV?”

“I hope they are,” replied Shenoy. “All the clues point to it.” Suddenly he frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“Because either they went forth and multiplied, or else they’ve got a hell of lot of friends,” said Tabor.

“I don’t follow you,” said Shenoy, frowning.

“Rupert, there’s enough neutrino activity for a population of more than ten million,” answered Tabor. “A population that gave up sticks and stones a few centuries ago.” He paused. “Are you sure this is the world we want?”

Shenoy nodded his head. “I’m hardly ever wrong about anything that counts.”

Tabor chuckled. “I admire your modesty.”

“Besides, I didn’t say the Old Ones lived here. I said they might live here, or perhaps that I hoped they did. What I said was that this was where we’d find the secret to their magic.” He paused. “Probably.”

“Funny,” replied Tabor. “I must not have heard the ‘probably’ when you decided to come here.”

Shenoy stared at Tabor for a long moment. “Okay,” he said at last. “Where do you think we’ll find the secret?”

Tabor chuckled. “I’m not convinced they ever existed, or that they had any magic, or that they left the secret behind.”

“Then why are you here?”

“It’s my job.”

“Oh, yes,” said Shenoy. “You’ve been such a good companion I quite forgot. You’re here to protect me.”

“And if there are no Old Ones lying in wait and lurking in the shadows, I can’t say that I’ll weep bitter tears,” said Tabor.

“Well, you should,” said Shenoy seriously. “If I’m right, if everything we’ve learned about them is right, they did possess magic, and an incredibly powerful kind of magic, certainly the equivalent of anything any race possesses today. Take my word for it, Russ — someone is going to find it, and use it. It might as well be us.”

“Given who created it, and what the last world was named for,” replied Tabor, “I think there’s every possibility that if someone finds it they’ll misuse it.”

“All the more reason why we must find it first,” said Shenoy.

Tabor decided not to point out the obvious.

“Okay,” said Shenoy after a moment’s silence, “what can we glean about Cornwallis IV?”

“It’s round and there’s a lot of neutrino activity.”

“Damn it, Russ!”

“Rupert,” said Tabor, “what can you tell about Earth when you’re observing it from halfway to Mars?”

“What kind of people live there?” persisted Shenoy. “Are they friendly or inimical? Humanoid or something else? If they’re not friendly, how do we plan to land and explore for traces of the Old Ones and their magic? Or are they the Old Ones?”

Tabor turned and stared at him. “I’ll answer your questions when you tell me which horse is going to win next year’s Kentucky Derby back on Earth.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Shenoy. “I’ve never even seen a horse.”

“I’ve never seen what’s living on Cornwallis IV,” replied Tabor. “Fair is fair.”

“I assume this means you have no more idea what’s down there than I have about” — Shenoy made a face — “horses.”

Tabor smiled. “You’re as bright as they say.”

“Well, damn it, Russ, we have to know before we touch down!”

“No one’s touching down until they give us landing coordinates, and recite the usual rules and regulations, or at least feed them into the ship’s computer, and then we’ll know a little more about them.”

“Then what’s keeping us?” grumbled Shenoy.

“Calm down, Rupert.”

“I am calm!” yelled Shenoy. “But why are we going so slowly?”

“Because if an unknown ship approaches them at light speeds they’ll blow it out of the ether,” said Tabor. “Now relax. They’ll make contact with us in another ten or fifteen minutes.”

“All right,” said Shenoy. “I’m sorry if I got excited.”

“An understatement.”

“I know, I know. But I’m just so anxious to contact them and get permission to proceed with my work.”

“I hate to bring this up,” said Tabor, “but have you considered what you want to do if they refuse us permission to land, or let us land but won’t give us freedom of movement?”

Shenoy smiled. “I’ll offer them half.”

“Half of what?”

“That’s just it,” said Shenoy, looking exceptionally proud of himself. “They’ll assume we want diamonds or fissionable materials, something like that, and all I want are clues to the secrets of the Old Ones, which will probably look like the unsightly things they throw into their trash atomizers.”

“Do you know exactly what you’re looking for?” asked Tabor.

“I have some ideas about it.”

“If it’s something that you, who knows almost nothing about the Old Ones and their magic and artifacts, expect to spot on first seeing it, why do you think that whatever the hell lives there hasn’t found it a century or a millennium ago?”

“Seriously?” asked Shenoy.

“Seriously.”

“Because whatever is living there, we’ve never heard of or encountered them,” replied Shenoy with a triumphant smile. “And if they’d found it, then surely the whole damned galaxy would know.”

“Consider the flip side of that supposition,” suggested Tabor.

“I don’t follow you.”

“Maybe they haven’t found it because it wasn’t there.”

Shenoy shook his head. “They haven’t found it because they haven’t been to Cthulhu and don’t know what to look for.”

Tabor shrugged. “I hope you’re right.” He got to his feet and headed toward the galley. “I’m going to grab some coffee. You want any?”

“I’m too excited,” said Shenoy.

The excitement had worn off an hour later, when the ship finally received a signal from the planet.

“Oh, good!” said Shenoy.

“Nothing exceptional,” replied Tabor. “We’re finally close enough.”

“Well, talk to them!” urged Shenoy excitedly.

“The ship’s computer is talking to their computer,” answered Tabor. “Standard operating procedure.”

“The ship is telling them why we’re here?” demanded Shenoy with a worried frown.

Tabor shook his head. “Just getting landing coordinates, and local rules: types of currency, any diseases we need to know about, any wars or curfews, even a list of available hotels and prices. When it’s done we’ll take a look, see if there’s anything we have to take precautions against, arrange for a couple of rooms, and tell them why we’re here.”

“What if they object?”

“I thought I’d say we’re tourists,” replied Tabor. “It seems less controversial than saying we’re here to plunder their planet of its most valuable treasures, and perhaps also of the people those treasures originally belonged to.”

“Yes,” agreed Shenoy. “It does sound more reasonable.”

The ship’s computer informed them that it had assimilated all the data that had been transmitted and had been given landing coordinates next to a hangar that could accommodate alien spacecraft. It then gave them a list of accepted currencies and forbidden substances, as well as a readout of the local temperature, duration of planetary rotation, and a chemical breakdown of the atmosphere.

“Not bad,” said Shenoy, studying the atmosphere. “Better than we might have expected. No protective gear necessary.”

“There’s protective gear and then there’s protective gear,” replied Tabor, slipping his hand through a wristband that held a compass.

“I’ve got one of my own,” noted Shenoy.

“I doubt it,” said Tabor with a smile. “This one’s accurate up to two hundred meters. Accurate, and deadly.”

“A weapon?” said Shenoy, frowning.

“Well, they’re sure as hell not going to let a visitor walk around carrying a sidearm.”

Shenoy considered it briefly, then nodded his approval. “All right,” he said. “Now let’s talk to them.”

Tabor nodded, and activated the audio function.

“Hello, the planet,” he said.

There was no reply for almost a full minute. Then a hoarse baritone voice responded: “If you understand me, then our translator has accurately pinpointed your language, and we can converse in it, always allowing a few seconds for us to translate your statement and our reply.”

“We understand you perfectly,” Tabor assured the speaker.

“We thought you would. You are Humans, or at least of Human stock, are you not?”

“Yes, we are.”

“You are not the first of your race that we have encountered,” said the voice. “Welcome to Chuxthimazi, which I believe your race knows as Cornwallis.”

“Cornwallis IV, actually,” said Shenoy.

“As soon as you transfer the equivalent of thirty crugmos to the account I am supplying to your ship’s computer, you will be cleared to land.”

“Thank you,” said Tabor. “Have you a name?”

“Our race is the Paskapa. I am Pippibwali. I will sign off now.”

The radio went silent.

“You’re frowning,” noted Shenoy.

“I’ll give you ten-to-one that the first human to land here was a Finn,” said Tabor.

“Oh?” said Shenoy. “Why?”

“Because in Finnish, ‘paskapa’ means ‘shithead’.”

“That can’t be right,” insisted Shenoy, frowning.

The computer came briefly to life, and Tabor studied the screen before it went dark a few seconds later.

“You think not, eh?”

“What happened?” asked Shenoy suspiciously.

“We were just informed that thirty crugmos is the equivalent of nine thousand credits.”

“But that’s . . . that’s robbery!” exclaimed Shenoy.

Tabor grimaced. “Turns out they were pretty well-named after all.”

 

Alexander Inheritance – Snippet 01

Alexander Inheritance – Snippet 01

The Alexander Inheritance

Eric Flint, Gorg Huff, Paula Goodlett

Prologue

“Eurydice.” Roxane bowed slightly in acknowledgement, but was careful not to bow too deeply. She couldn’t afford to let the fiery sixteen-year-old think she was in any way superior. Roxane was twenty-two and the mother of Alexander the Great’s heir. Her beauty had captivated Alexander, but without Alexander as protector, Roxane’s beauty was as much a danger as an asset. Tall, with rich lustrous black hair and eyes, a lush figure and a dancer’s grace, Roxane was a temptress whether she wanted to be or not. But she wasn’t Macedonian like Eurydice or Alexander’s sister Cleopatra. The generals wouldn’t be competing to marry Alexander’s beautiful widow…just to use her.

Eurydice, on the other hand, wasn’t beautiful at all. The teenager had a beak of a nose and an almost mannish face, full of sharp edges and hard features. But she had a presence that was potentially dangerous to both Roxane and her son. Eurydice was a powerful speaker, and a member of the dynasty, Philip II’s niece. Roxane was noble, but not Macedonian.

Eurydice had the bloodlines and knew it. She barely nodded in returning Roxane’s bow. “Will you support me against Antipater when he gets here to Triparadisus?” she asked bluntly.

“Why should I risk such a thing?” Roxane looked at Eurydice, ignoring the lamps that had been lit as the sun got low in the sky, paying no more attention to the polished wooden floor of the hunting lodge, the rich draperies that hung from the walls or the expensive rugs. She pointed to the figure watching them from the corner of the room, a little boy with black hair and eyes and the features of Alexander the Great already beginning to show in his face. “Will my son be safer with you as regent than Antipater?”

“I am the wife of Philip III Arrhidaeus, half-brother of Alexander.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“No, he’s not. He just thinks differently.”

“Drawing curving lines and numbers on paper doesn’t make him any less an idiot.” Roxane forced herself to stop. She didn’t actually dislike Philip. She resented that he was co-king with her son, who already understood things that Philip never would. And she was afraid of Eurydice, who, it seemed likely, would have Roxane and her son killed to pave her way to power.

“Never mind,” she said. “Whether he ‘just thinks differently’ or not, having you as regent is not something that fills my heart with peace.”

“And Antipater does?”

“Antipater is seventy-six years old and not long for this world. Also, my son doesn’t stand between him and the throne.”

“I wouldn’t count on that if I were you,” Eurydice insisted. “He has sons, after all. Think, Roxane. If we are allied, the army will listen to us.”

Eurydice tried to put on a wheedling tone, but Roxane didn’t believe it. Eurydice was good at commanding, and her speeches could move an army. Had, in fact, over the weeks that they had been traveling from the disastrous battle on the Nile. But the teenage firebrand didn’t wheedle well, especially women. In this case, she had focused on the short-term goal of stopping Antipater and assumed that Roxane would fail to see the danger she represented.

“And how long will our alliance last? You are as much a pawn of the generals as I, but were I to help you to become a queen, I would be sacrificed in an instant, and my son with me.”

“You’re a fool. Perdiccas is as dead as Alexander. The generals are all out for themselves. The empire is coming apart and bleeding its honor onto the ground as Alexander’s soldiers kill each other.”

“Eumenes maintains his loyalty to the Argead dynasty.”

“Eumenes is a Greek, not a Macedonian, or he’d be rebelling with the rest. And anyway, the army has already declared him outlaw. It will be made official once Antipater is regent. The generals won’t have any choice. Eumenes isn’t going to come riding out of the east to rescue you and little Alexander. Nor me and Philip. We’ll have to rescue ourselves.”

It would have been a good argument, Roxane thought, if I could trust Eurydice as far as I could throw her. And Eurydice is the wrestler, not me.

Life in the household of Alexander the Great had been a mixture of terror and exultation from the beginning. Terror because Alexander’s generals weren’t happy that he married a Bactrian. Exultation because Alexander was truly a great man, frightening and tempestuous, but a man of great and grand dreams. A man who, if his life hadn’t been cut short, might have melded all the peoples of the world into one people. A man who saw past the surface, who could even see civilization, or at least the potential for it, in a blond Gaul or a Roman.

But that dream was as dead as Alexander now, and the generals had turned into jackals.

And Eurydice was a hungry tigress, swishing her tail and ready to pounce.

 

Darkship Revenge – Snippet 31

Darkship Revenge – Snippet 31

I remembered how no school, no mental hospital, no boot camp had been able to keep me.  I said, “Kit, they are… related to us.  Of us. If they belong to anyone–”

He looked at Laz and Morgan and sighed.  His mind started They are really —

Perhaps it was the sharpened look in Laz’s eyes, meeting Kit’s just a moment, that made Kit realize that for the first time, his mind talk with me was not private.  I still didn’t understand why their mind talk wasn’t restricted to only bonded relationships, but it obviously wasn’t.  I didn’t know what word Kit had been going to use after really.  It could be anything from feral to bizarre.  But instead, he sighed, heavily.  He looked at me for a moment.

Normally, if our talk had been private, I’d have said more, but all I said was, Remember what I was like when you found me.  Remember my attempt at stealing a ship?

Even though we were still paying for that piece of hooliganism – literally, since the damage to the ship had been charged to Kit who was then my legal guardian – and even though in retrospect that betrayal was one of the most despicable things I’d ever done, my husband’s lips twitched as if he found the memory of it funny.  Honestly, the man had the oddest sense of humor.  I was grateful, I supposed, insofar as I amused him.

He sighed, deeply.  “All right,” he said.  “All right.  I suppose we owe something to these children, to the extent they share our genetic code. Or not owe, precisely, but as fellow humans, as relations, it is our duty to protect them.  We didn’t choose them, but we don’t choose our relations, do we?”

“I’m not going to let Thor come to harm,” Fuse said.

“No.  I think they’ve come to enough harm,” Kit said.  He frowned.  He looked very much like a man deciding to do something he knew would hurt, in more ways than one.  “All right.  We’ll do it.  But we can’t stay for months.  We are already under some suspicion in Ede — At home.  We can’t explain months away and get away with it.  Or rather, we can but it will only make us more suspicious and isolated among our fellows.  It will only make everyone think we’re traitors.”

Lucius took a deep breath.  I had the impression that he was relieved, more relieved than I expected, as though he had some plans that we could have ruined by refusing to go along with his idea.  “So,” he said.  “Jarl’s refuge. If you don’t mind?”

Kit shrugged.  I said, “It is a place with the possibility for endless mischief.”

“Indeed,” Simon said.  “But which place on Earth isn’t?  Are you planning to take over a maximum security prison?  I don’t think we have anything like Never Never anymore.  Or not under our command.  And even that, as we all know is not impregnable to escapes.”  He turned and gave Lucius the coordinates for the place Lucius called Jarl’s retreat.

It took a long time to get there.  It was half around the world, and in the middle of the territory of Europe, the place that had got most affected by the “ecological clean-up bacteria” the Good Men had released.  If they hadn’t lied about it – which they probably had – the intention of creating and releasing those micro organisms had been to clean pollution from the soil.  What they had actually done was turn vast portions of continents into deserts.  Other parts of the world had recovered, and North America was almost entirely re-greened and heavily re-colonized.  But this part of Europe, where, according to the history we were taught, the infection had originated, remained sandy and deserted, the ground stripped of anything living, so that sand and dust were loose and blew in the air, the remains of cities standing like abandoned sentinels in the wasteland.

Lucius didn’t need to refuel his flyer, which surprised me, but maybe it shouldn’t have.  In an Earth where war – or rather, multiple, small wars everywhere, all part of a larger strife – had become a constant, it probably wasn’t safe to run on a small amount of juice, so that you might need to replace the power pack in a bad area or at a bad time.  No, if I were designing for the conditions on Earth right now, I’d have backups to the back up to the back up.

More importantly, Lucius had both fresher facilities, and food on board.  When those needs had come up, he’d grinned, “Remember, I am often entrusted with the care of the Remy children.”

Which probably explained why the food was highly colored, amusing, somewhat bland and in the case of crackers, shaped like iconic heroes of the Usaians.  I found it a little odd to eat a package of smiling George Washingtons, the mythical George that the Usaians believed would come back to establish their republic anew.

We slept too.  Not all at once, but by turns.  It was decided, without discussion that two of the adults, besides the pilot, needed to be awake at any time.  Kit and I took turns amusing Eris, and if I’d thought that Fuse’s staring at me while I tended to her had been unnerving, the look on the boys’ faces was twice so.  They looked as if they’d never seen a baby.  Which now I thought about it might be true, at least for their conscious lives, if Morgan was among the youngest batch of clones made.

I confess that by the time we arrived and dipped down to the entrance that would otherwise look as just the rock face of a hill, I was jumpy like a broomer at a peacekeeper convention.

The thing was I knew these kids.  Oh, not them personally, of course.  How could I?  But I knew the genetic stock they came from, a genetic stock that had been replicated with no outside input.  Meaning, I knew the people whose clones these children were, and being clones they didn’t have anyone else’s genetics, so sweet reasonableness couldn’t have come from anywhere else.  These weren’t the children of my misguided father, or Jarl Ingemar or of Meinard Ajith Rex Mason, Fuse’s father.  No.  They were their clones.

Sure the argument of nature versus nature can go on forever, and sure, Lucius wasn’t Max and as far as I knew Max was nothing like their father, Dante.  But that didn’t mean that the innate tendencies weren’t there. Luce and Max, at least, had both been relatively laid back until provoked beyond endurance, and both men of few words.

I’d seen these kids under pressure, and could attest that like their originals or like myself and Kit, for that matter, they were spitfires, hell on two feet, ready to resolve whatever was scaring them by scaring it right back.

So why were they so passive during the trip?  They slept most of the way, save for requests to use the fresher.  They didn’t even ask for food, though they did ask for water.

I kept expecting one or the other of them to flourish a stolen weapon or a hidden one, and try to take over the ship.

Instead, they sat there sleepy, heavy eyed.  I wondered what was going on.  Had the immensity of the Earth scared them?

When Kit had first seen the ocean he’d indulged a fit extreme agoraphobia, but we’d been flying above it on a broom, not in an enclosed, totally covered flyer.  That surely wouldn’t raise their fears.

For that matter, their fears shouldn’t be acute when we came out of the flyer in the cavern.  Though there was an artificial sky above, it was cycling through night time when we arrived, a beautiful summer sky, studded with lights like stars, which was clearly not the sky outside, which had been the middle of a summer afternoon.  Besides they knew we had gone underground into a cavern.

But if they weren’t scared, they were still reacting weirdly. I half-expected the boys to look around in wonder, or to be surprised and maybe even delighted by the heavily wooded space, the river murmuring through the mechanically-maintained lawn on the riverside, or the rustling of small animals and birds.  But they didn’t even look either way, when we let them out of the flyer, and escorted them to one of the main buildings, which used to be the resort’s main hotel and later Jarl’s main residence.  Instead, they stumbled along, staring at their feet.

 

Darkship Revenge – Snippet 30

Darkship Revenge – Snippet 30

However, part of the very bad time was that Kit had, at the time, been at risk of being overtaken by Jarl’s personality, implanted during a misguided treatment for traumatic brain injury.  At any rate, I had destroyed all of the potential traps in the area. There was nothing injurious about the resort itself, other than being old and in some areas ruined.

On the one hand, the place had plenty of abandoned machinery, possibly compounds for making explosives, and was dense and forest-like enough for the children to get lost in it.  On the other hand it was difficult both to break into and to leave and fairly secret.

They should be asking me, not Kit if we minded using that place.  Only they remembered Kit as being half-possessed by Jarl, and they were probably keeping in mind that Jarl might take offense at the trespass.

Kit sighed.  “This is nothing to do with us,” he said.  “Athena and I, and our daughter, have nothing to do with these children, or with Earth, or with granting the Mules a place on Earth if… if anyone is going to do that.  It is only the merest chance that embroiled them with us.  I think the best thing to do, for the three of us would be to go back home, and leave you gentlemen to handle this.”

There was a long silence, after he spoke.  Lucius didn’t move, or look back.  He was looking intently at his controls and remained so, with perhaps a bit of extra rigidity to his pose, as though what had been natural abstraction was now quite unnatural appearance of abstraction.

And Simon stayed stock still and frowned, not so much as if he were upset, but as if this upset his plans.

Kit had spoken carefully, and politely, but with a sort of cold detachment that was quite unlike him.  I wondered if it was because he felt most of all he must take me and Eris out of this situation.

I understood his point.  I did.  Not just wishing to see us safe, but his reluctance to stay on Earth any longer than necessary.

After all, Kit simply wasn’t free to go anywhere he wanted on Earth.  Sure, his eyes could be disguised with contact lenses, and then he wouldn’t look like the highly specialized enhanced life form he was.  But with his calico hair, he was still noticeable.  And even if we disguised that, he would stick out as a stranger everywhere.  The way he moved, the accent on his Glaish, even his expressions were subtly out of kilter with anyone on Earth.  It was the result of growing up in a colony that hadn’t been in contact with Earth for centuries, and not something you could easily overcome.

Plus, I knew he still wasn’t fond of standing anywhere on Earth where there wasn’t a roof over his head.  In the hallowed asteroid, in which he’d been born and raised, the sky above was a hologram.  He’d confided to me that the only way he could keep from going into an agoraphobic panic outside was to pretend the skies of Earth were the same.

In other words, he was a man out of place.  And he wanted to go home.  Which I understood.  I did.  Then why did my stomach contract at his words?

I found I was looking at Little Brother.  Captain Morgan, of the Sinistra genetic line, was a pitiful object.  Too young to be a man, too old to be a child, and from the look on his face, and the way he looked warily at all of us, too untrusting to ever have been a child like other children.

I’d been created and raised by a man who saw me as his way to a plan: his plan of turning the world into a haven for his kind, one in which normal humans were slowly pushed out, as an inferior species, unable to compete.

Something about that thought sent a finger of cold up my spine and a suspicion crossed my mind that there was something in that I should pay attention to.

But mostly, I was looking at Morgan.

I’m not going to say he was a pretty child, though he could have been one, under different circumstances and different standards of grooming.  And I’m not going to say my interaction with him made me think him pleasant or really possessed of any good qualities.

The thing was, where would he have learned good qualities or proper principles, poor sprout?  I’d been raised by someone who didn’t love me, and didn’t really consider me human.  But even so, I’d had a foster mother, who had loved me, at least if I remembered my first years of life accurately.  She’d disappeared when I was six, but she’d left behind that sense of security and love.

More than that, I’d had the whole wide world.

Yes, of course, my father had mostly made me acquainted with that world by sending me to reform schools and mental hospitals, in an attempt to make me conform to his plans and not question his orders.

But in those, and in my broomer lair, I’d found boon companions, friends, acquaintances.  And even then…

Even then, I’d been a sorry mess with no more morals than a cat.  I remembered what I’d been like when Kit had rescued me from the powertree ring.  Even afterwards, even after he and his family had taken me in, looked after me, and given me their trust and their help, I’d been so disloyal, so unable to have any moral judgment that I’d almost gotten Kit killed.

If Kit had never taken me in, I’d have ended up killed, my own misguided machinations trapping me into what my father wanted me to do.  And if I’d somehow survived my father, I’d still be a sad creature, not fully grownup, not responsible for my own actions, let alone others’.

What about this child, who’d grown up in circumstances that made my upbringing look idyllic?

I slipped my hand into Kit’s, on the seat, beside him. His hand felt very cold. He looked at me.

Simon said, under his breath, but in a tone that was obviously meant to be overheard, “How … typical.  Of course, it is none of your business.  Though we helped you when –”

Kit opened his mouth, closed it.

Into the silence, I said, “I see both sides,” I said.  “Yes, Simon has helped us, Kit, as has Lucius.  They didn’t need to provide us with places to stay, or cover for us, even if once or twice we might have benefited them.  But I do understand Kit also,” I said, looking at Simon.  “This is not his world, nor does he feel comfortable in it. He’s afraid of being caught out in something all of us know, but which he doesn’t, and which will make it obvious he’s a stranger.  Considering that my father imprisoned him and tortured him to get the location of Eden and the secrets of darkships, considering that most of the effort of his people is towards hiding the location of his home world, you can’t blame him.  Or rather, you can but you shouldn’t.”

“Yes, but — ” Lucius said. He sighed.  His face was taut, the lines on it too sharp, as though he were disciplining his expression by an effort of will.  “But Athena, if we are going to keep these children secret – and I’m sure we must – until we figure out what, precisely, is going on, and if we can help them complete their mission without hurting ourselves or them, we have to leave someone with them.  You’re ideal, not just because Kit can open things that Jarl coded, and will be more at home and more able to arrange things to suit you in Jarl’s retreat, but also because you will not be missed on Earth.  Simon and I are both relatively prominent.  If we are gone too long — As is, taking you to Jarl’s retreat and going back would take long enough to be hard to explain.  But we can’t disappear for days or weeks or even, in extreme case, months.  If we did, it would be noticed and people would come looking for us.  Not all of them friendly people.”

“You have subordinates,” Kit said.  “Both of you.  You could order someone to look after the boys, or to keep them prisoner.”

“We could,” Simon said.  “But you know who they are, and of whose genes they’re made.  Do you think many normal people would be able to contain them or to prevent them from going off, perhaps into Good Men hands, carrying information about us?”

 

Gods of Sagittarius – Snippet 30

Gods of Sagittarius – Snippet 30

She pulled out her scruffy tablet and held it up. The Ebbo already had its stylus in hand. The transaction was quickly made and the Human left.

She returned a short while later. “It’s time for the delivery payment. The Human you’re looking for has a ship waiting for him at the spaceport. He’s already left the prison and is headed that way.”

Occo wouldn’t have been surprised if the heterochthonatrix had tried to cheat the Human of her delivery payment, but Rammadrecula paid immediately. Either she was honest or knew something about the likely retaliation that thwarted street urchins would undertake. Occo had no way to judge the capabilities of the orphans of an alien species. Perhaps they could be quite dangerous.

As soon as the Human left, Rammadrecula burst into an enthusiastic little dance. “The chase is on! It’s on! But we must hurry — or Shenoy will leave before we can reach my spacecraft and set out in pursuit.”

Occo pointed to the Ebbo. “Easier to just have Proceeds-With-Circumspection check the registered passage. They must have filed one or the Humans won’t let them pass through the portal.”

She didn’t add what she could have, which was: how did Rammadrecula think she could pursue an FTL Human spacecraft with the STL craft she would have at her own disposal as an Envacht Lu official?

She didn’t add it for the good and simple reason that she needed to make clear to the now-exposed-as-certifiably-unbalanced heterochthonatrix that there was no “we” involved in this project in the first place.

But before she could utter those peremptory phrases, she felt Bresk’s neural connectors probing behind her earflaps. The familiar wanted to link without bringing attention to the fact.

Bresk was often a nuisance but he was not stupid. If he wanted to link, there would be a reason for it. Occo exposed her neural sockets and a moment later they were linked.

<Don’t quarrel about it> Bresk said. <Her ship probably has better records than I do of whatever destination we’ll be headed for. Even with those records at our disposal, getting there via Warlock Variation Drive is going to be what Humans call “hairy.” Without them . . . >

He had a point. And now that she thought about it, Occo realized that Ju’ula could surely set out as easily from a spaceship as anywhere else. So why bother arguing with the Envacht Lu lunatic? They’d go aboard her ship, lift off the planet — and then go their separate way.

“We need to make a stop first,” she said. “I have some essential equipment I need to take with us. A deific works detector and a demonic de-energizer.”

As descriptions of the Warlock Variation Drive and the Skerkud Teleplaser, those were . . . creative. Thankfully, Rammadrecula didn’t seem inclined to pursue the matter. She satisfied herself with uttering the phrase make haste! make haste! at least thirty or forty times as they went to the chamber where Occo had left Ju’ula and the Teleplaser and thereafter made their way outside the human habitat to the place where the heterochthonatrix had left her vehicle.

***

Though no sentient being would ever confuse him with the operator of a sports racer, Proceeds-With-Circumspection proved to be a less stodgy driver than his fellow Ebbo, Circumvents-Jeopardies-and-Exposures. So, they arrived at the spaceport not more than a short time after the Humans reached their ship and took off.

By then, however, a search of the public records using the Ebbo’s tablet revealed the intended destination of their quarry. It was a planet occupied mostly by Paskapans which Human called “Cornwallis IV.”

Bresk found the name Cornwallis IV in his own records. “The appellation seems to refer either to an obscure military figure of Human history, a peninsular extension of one of their islands, or possibly a miniature avian which figures in their cuisine. Which, by the way, is loathsome. Would you believe Humans extract the bodily fluids of one of their domesticated animals — cows, they’re called, or sometimes goats — and then deliberately expose the already-nauseating substance to environmental degradation using a multitude of bacteria, microbes and enzymes, the purpose of which — brace yourself — ”

“Shut up. I don’t need to know any of this,” said Occo.

“Well, no, you don’t. But it’s actually rather interesting, in a sickening sort of way.”

Bresk was silent for a bit, and then resumed with more relevant information. “There are several terms for the planet in our own tongues, depending on which sect or denomination is involved. But the two used most often are Uingha Va Vra — after one of the three founding sages of the Lesser Obscurati, which doesn’t seem too useful for our purposes — and Aztrakaçetif.”

“That’s a peculiar name.”

“It’s not really a name,” Bresk explained. “It’s just a sequence of syllables based on the linguistic theories developed by the Jekh Submergence, which they believe makes their communications opaque to occult powers because — ”

“Skip all that,” said Occo impatiently. “The Jekh Submergence — whether the Covenant, the Pact, the Assembly or the Debentia — are a mob of cretins. What use is the name for our purposes?”

“I was just getting to that,” Bresk responded. “What this particular string of syllables does is encapsulate a description of the planet itself. Translating — a bit loosely, that’s inherent when you’re dealing with Jekh twaddle — it means ‘looks sort of like a gwendgee, but with extra pustules.’ Talk about loathsome cuisine!”

Loathsome, indeed. A gwendgee was a small amphibian which originated on Hairrab, the cloister planet of the Jekh Assembly, but had since been spread to all planets occupied by the Submergence that had suitable ecosystems. The noxious creature was prized by the Submergence because of the poisons it secreted and retained in epidermal pustules. Steamed or parboiled and then usually mixed in a salad, the creatures were eaten and produced mystic visions. Such, at least, was the claim made by the Submergence. No other sect had ever corroborated their claims because eating gwendgees also resulted in a fatality rate exceeding seventy-five percent. Occo was by no means the only Nac Zhe Anglan who considered them a mob of cretins.

Still, they finally had a physical description to go by, which seemed to be the critical ingredient for successful travel using the Warlock Variation Drive.

***

They reached Rammadrecula’s spaceship. Not surprisingly, given the Heterochthonatrix’s lineage, it was an expensive luxury craft rather than a more utilitarian official vessel. She’d probably bought it herself rather than drawing on Envacht Lu funds.

Once aboard, Rammadrecula and Proceeds-With-Circumspection set about launching the ship, while Occo and Bresk set themselves up in the chamber they’d been provided.

“Wake up, Ju’ula,” Occo commanded. “We need you to get us out of here.”

The Warlock Variation Drive’s eyes opened and spent a few moments examining the chamber.

“Why would we want to get out of here, Mama?” she asked. “This is plush. Way better than where most of my Mamas put me — including you, I’m sad to say, at least up until now.”

“Plush or not, it’s a sublight vessel. We need you to get us where we’re going more quickly.”

“So? The two are not counterpoised. And where do you need to go?”

“It’s a planet called Aztrakaçetif.”

Ju’ula closed her eyes. “Oh, Mama, that’s just a string of nonsense sounds. I need an image.”

They felt and heard a slight rumble. Rammadrecula’s yacht was lifting from the planet.

“Better wait a bit,” Bresk cautioned.

That was probably good advice. Occo turned on the viewscreen and waited until they were well clear of the atmosphere. Then she closed her eyes and tried to visualize a planet that looked sort of like a gwendgee, but with more pustules.

The result, unfortunately, was something that looked a lot more like a particularly large and grotesque gwendgee than a planet of any kind.

“You want to visit Yuyu the Unfortunate? Well, okay. But I got to tell you, Mama –”

The planet in the viewscreen disappeared. An instant later, the viewscreen itself disappeared — and an instant after that, the entire chamber. Occo and Bresk found themselves on what seemed to be a large platter with a slightly raised lip. Rammadrecula and Proceeds-With-Circumspection were perched on the very edge, looking both surprised and alarmed.

The couch that Occo herself rested upon, on the other hand, was extraordinarily luxurious.

“Most people don’t want to have anything to do with the God of Misfortune of the now-extinct Misundai,” Ju’ula continued, sounding very dubious. “Who used to be the Chaik’s God of Catastrophe before they went extinct, and was the Race of Supremacy’s God of Affliction before they went extinct, and before that was –”

Rammadrecula started to shriek. Proceeds-With-Circumspection began scrittering frantically on its tablet, exclaiming: “This is most irregular! Most irregular!”

Ahead of them, squatting on what seemed to be a vast and illimitable field covered with fungi, was a being which . . .

Looked quite like a gigantic and particularly misshapen and discolored gwendgee covered with pustules. Seeing them come, the monster’s maw opened and an enormous tongue emerged. Coiled, as if ready to strike.

The pustules opened also. They did not secrete poisons, however. Instead, they produced huge insects that bore a close resemblance to the sort of winged predators that fed on . . .

Pretty much anything that moved. Such as themselves, literally served up on a platter.

The swarm of insects headed their way.

“Those look like stingers on their abdomens,” said Bresk. “Either that or ovipositors. I’m not sure which is worse.”

 

Darkship Revenge – Snippet 29

Darkship Revenge – Snippet 29

Brands and Fire

He came back, later, his face stern.  He closed the door, and he started the flyer.

Look, I was never Miss Cautious.  I’m not Mrs. Cautious either. Once, when I was twelve, I flew a broom into the façade of a skyscraper to avoid being taken back to a reform school where Father had confined me for–

Never mind.  But Lucius Keeva took off from the island too fast, too shallow, almost grazing the tall spires of the former algae processing station.

I thought something had disturbed him, or that he was so wholly absorbed in some thought that he paid no attention to anything else.

Kit and I barely had time to drop into seats and strap in when it became obvious that he was taking off. Eris set up a low complaining cry since I had no time to put her in the crib, not that I was sure I wanted to put her in it, and away from me, when the boys could conceivably get loose and get hold of her, so she was squished against my chest by the strap.

Simon didn’t drop into a seat or strap in.  He stood there, his concession to the fast movement being a grab at part of the frame and a spreading apart of his feet.  There was a disturbing smile on his lips.  And when I say disturbing, I mean disturbing.  It was his “I see something funny” coupled with “I know you just parked your broom on an anthill” smile.

When we leveled off in flight, he made his way towards the pilot’s seat, in a controlled stumble from holding on to the back of a seat to holding on to the back of a seat.  When he held on to Lucius’ seat, he tapped Lucius on the shoulder.

It took Lucius several breaths to respond, and his response was no more than a frown turned towards Simon.

“Eh, mon ami,” Simon said, his tone still as though he were on the verge of bursting into laughter.  “Would you mind telling me where we’re going?”

I didn’t know Lucius very well.  My acquaintance with him was maybe an aggregate two weeks.  But I’d known his younger brother, Max, since we were both brats romping around wherever Good Men met to discuss policy and how to keep peace and stability.  When Max had done that thing like a half-chew and thrusting his lower jaw forward, it was a good time to clear the decks because he was about to lose his patience.

Needless to say Simon had known Max as well as I had.  But he didn’t clear the decks.  Instead, he said, “Well?”

Lucius did the jaw thing again, then, abruptly, sighed.  A puzzled expression replaced his look of anger.  Not so much as though he didn’t know what he was doing, more as though he knew he’d forgotten something.

“I can’t go to Olympus, can I?” Simon said, in a soft voice.

“Of course you can,” Lucius said, again annoyed.  “We’re not at war with you!”

“Oh, deary me, no, we’re not.  In fact we’re allies of convenience against the Good Men, but how will it look if I, who have been at pains to establish the personality of a megalomaniac populist am seen in your company with no pomp, no circumstance, nothing to indicate that I am the great Emperor Beaulieu?  In my jumpsuit, and looking every day and mundane? Worse, if I’m seen in the company of one of the heroes of the Usaian revolution, someone so charismatic everyone knows about him?  I’ll be judged a puppet.”  And to Luce’s blank expression, “But it is worse than that, mon ami.  You know it is.  Athena’s husband would need lenses or disguising glasses, and possibly hair dye or you’re going to find yourself explaining why our side is now bioengineering people into freaks of nature.”  A look at Kit, and, “Pardon, but that’s what they’ll call it.  And what’s more, Lucius, you can’t explain those three little cherubs.  And won’t they attract attention? BUT more importantly, we left behind my submarine.”  He frowned, a little, towards Fuse, “That is, if Christopher here hasn’t thrown an explosive device on top of it?”

“I didn’t see any submarine,” Kit said.

“Which is the main purpose of submarines.  To be under water and invisible from the top. Ah, well, there is a lot of shoreline there.  We’ll trust Athena’s husband threw it into open water.  If no chunks of dimatough floated up, chances are we’re safe.  But there is also the triangular ship, Lucius.  We can’t leave such things lying about for people to stumble into, because that will lead to all sorts of awkward questions, won’t it?  We can’t afford it, Lucius.  You know what Nat would tell you.  Hell, you know that you know.  You’re agitation and propaganda, are you not, my friend?”

Lucius looked upset.  I thought he looked mostly upset with himself, but if I were Simon I’d cut back on the heavy cajolery.  If cajoling Lucius Keeva when he was in this mood was as safe as cajoling Max in a similar mood, he might find himself looking for his teeth on the floor.

Not that a lot of people didn’t feel like doing that to Simon on a regular basis.  Even I, occasionally. The fact that he still had perfectly straight teeth either meant people had almost supernatural control, or that he engaged in a lot of repair dental work.

“Where should I go then?” Lucius said, at long last.  “Staying on that island is dangerous too, particularly after the explosion, which probably showed on the sonar of anyone watching this area and might have brought patrols out.”

“I had to get rid of that bomb,” Fuse said.  “The explosive was –”

Simon gestured the objection away.  “I have control over that area.  It is part of Liberte waters.  None of which means I want to be there now, when a patrol might very easily come by and it would be… ah… awkward if they found us.  But in the long run I can suppress any inconvenient findings and slap a do not speak order on any of my units, if needed by implying that what they stumbled on is secret research from Liberte.  All that can be done later, but granted that we had to leave the algae processing station behind, and that we can’t take these people to Olympus or Liberte, do you have a destination in mind?”

Luce shook his head.  He faced forward.  He was looking at his maps again, and changing our route, at a guess to avoid passing anywhere we’d be noticed, let alone attacked.

“I have –” Simon stopped and sighed.  He turned to Kit, then looked at Simon.  “There is that little hideaway of Jarl Ingemar’s if Athena’s husband wouldn’t mind doing the honors of the genlock?  I believe all the booby traps have been disabled, and the place itself is not only a resort, but very hard to leave without alarms sounding.”

“I gave…” Kit stopped.  “Nat the codes to disable the resort.”

“Sure,” Luce said.  “And eventually it will be a spot where those wounded in the war can go to recover.  But there has been no time and no resources, and in case you did not notice, Nat is not here.  And the inability of people getting out without your say so…”  He looked towards the three teenagers, “Could be useful should these children, or… indeed, any others we gather.” He raised an eyebrow at Luce, but Luce didn’t rise to the bait, facing away and keeping his face blank. “Prove resourceful. I could give you the coordinates.”

Luce gave a look over his shoulder in Kit’s direction.

Look, it didn’t make any sense, okay?  I’m the first to admit that. The place they were talking about had been used as a hideaway and resort by Jarl Ingemar.  I believe before that it had been a touristic resort of some kind.  It was set in an artificial cave in Northern Europe, with a climate so controlled that it grew plants and fruits from all over the world.

Under Jarl’s use it had become a sort of fortress, impenetrable from the outside.  And during his absence, with the AIs and cyborgs he’d left in control, two of them imbued with his own personality, those defensive measures had gone completely out of control and turned the place into an obstacle course coupled with cunning traps for the unwary or indeed anyone. On our last visit to Earth Kit and I had spent a very bad time there.

 

Gods of Sagittarius – Snippet 29

Gods of Sagittarius – Snippet 29

CHAPTER 17

“Now what?” asked Bresk. “As much as I hate to ask.”

Occo didn’t answer immediately. That was for the good and simple reason that she had no answer. The information she’d just uncovered at the Human prison strengthened her belief that the culprits she sought were supernatural, true enough. But she had no idea where to proceed from here.

Other than to retrieve Ju’ula and the Teleplaser, at any rate. That would give them something to do while she pondered her next course of action.

Bresk farted derisively. “Got no idea, do you?”

“Shut up. Find the way back to the Warlock Variation Drive.”

“Go forward to the end of this sorry excuse for a plaza, turn left at the sorry excuse for a street you’ll encounter, turn left at the third alley — I’d call it a ‘lane’ but that would be ridiculous — and then turn right at the next alley. After that –”

The familiar droned on but Occo didn’t bother to memorize his instructions. When she needed further guidance she’d order him to provide it.

***

In the event, it proved to be a moot point anyway. They’d gotten no farther than the second left turn when Occo heard a peculiar sort of hissing sound. Something like:

Psst!

Looking to the side, she saw a narrow alley in which a small Human lurked. So small that it had to be either a youngling or a mutant. Not being very familiar with Humans, Occo couldn’t make an educated guess as to which it was.

“Hey, mister,” said the Human, still hissing for some reason. “Want to see some feelthy pictures?”

The statement made no sense. “Some . . . what?”

The small creature shook its head. “Never mind. The stupid bug insisted I had to start by saying that. Don’t ask me why, I got no idea.” It pointed down the alley behind it. “It wants to talk to you. It’s waiting in a little restaurant around the corner. Look for a sign that says: Rick’s Café.” The Human shook its head again. “It used to be called Mama Cheo’s, but the bug paid to have the new sign put up. Got no idea why it did that either.”

“Describe what you call ‘the bug’,” Occo commanded.

The Human’s description was clear enough. It had to be an Ebbo. Which meant, since no Ebbo who ever lived was given to the slightest whimsy . . .

Bresk put her thoughts into words. “It’s that weird Envacht Lu heterochthonatrix. Got to be.”

Occo decided there was probably no harm in following the instructions, and could conceivably be problems if she didn’t.

“Lead the way,” she said.

The little Human stuck out its hand. “The bug didn’t pay me to be your guide. The fee is — ” There followed a meaningless term, which Occo presumed was a reference to local currency.

“I don’t have any of that . . . whatever it is.”

Bresk spoke up. “But we’re quite sure the Ebbo — that’s ‘the bug’ you’re talking about — will be good for it.”

The Human’s face scrunched up in an expression which Occo interpreted as dubiousness.

“It’s an Ebbo,” Bresk said. “The wretched things — ‘bugs’ is it? I like that — can’t stand being around unpaid debts. It’ll pay you, be sure of it.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the Human turned away and started moving down the alley. “Okay. Follow me. You better be right or I’ll report you to the Kneebreaker.”

A local gangster, presumably. Occo wasn’t particularly concerned. Breaking the knees of a Nac Zhe Anglan, especially a female, was actually quite difficult.

***

When they reached their destination a short while later, Occo recognized the Ebbo waiting for them. It was Proceeds-With-Circumspection, the Envacht Lu Heterochthonatrix’s factotum.

Occo gestured toward the little Human. “Pay it, please. I am lacking in the local currency.”

The Ebbo rubbed its hind legs together in a mannerism which Occo suspected was an indication of annoyance, but made no verbal protest. He extended his stylus, the Human matched it with a scruffy looking electronic tablet, and the transaction was quickly done.

“So long, then,” said the Human. Adding, on the way out: “I’m a she, you Knack dipshit.”

Bresk farted with surprise. “Apparently the females don’t grow their breasts for a while. Who knew?”

“Who cared?” muttered Occo. She looked around the dingy little room they were in. Judging from the odors emanating from the kitchen, the restaurant catered to a clientele best described as uncritical.

“I don’t recommend eating here,” Bresk said. “I can send out the probes for a more precise analysis, if you like, but my own olfactory sensors have already detected several aldehydes and at least two industrial solvents. That’s in the food, you understand, not the cooking equipment.”

Since Occo had no intention of dining on the premises, the advice was unnecessary. But she paid the matter little attention, because she was primarily concerned with the Heterochthonatrix’s location — or lack of it, rather. Why had the Ebbo brought them here if not to meet Heurse Gotha Rammadrecula?

The mystery resolved itself. A haze in an alcove to the side that Occo hadn’t spotted — neither the haze nor the alcove — faded away. Sitting at a table was the Heterochthonatrix. Looking at the wall behind Rammadrecula, Occo could now see the small chamber holding the Gawad murkster. She hadn’t realized the device was portable.

“Of all the djinn joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine,” said Rammadrecula, looking immensely pleased with herself.

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Of course not! Unlike me, you’re not a Humanologist. Truth is, even scholars aren’t sure what it means. The most likely theory is that it’s a Human reference to supernatural entities. ‘Djinns’ were a sort of demon.

“But enough of that!” she continued. “Welcome, far travelers! Now that you’ve seen the evidence for yourself at the prison, I’m sure your next course of action is self-evident.”

Occo was taken aback. “Self-evident? I’m afraid it’s anything but. Yes, I agree that the killings were the work of a supernatural force or power of some sort, which confirms my suspicions. But I have no idea where to go from here.”

Rammadrecula slapped the table top several times. Occo couldn’t tell if the action resulted from irritation or enthusiasm or some other emotion entirely. The Heterochthonatrix was truly abnormal.

“Come! Come!” exclaimed Rammadrecula. “You’re overlooking the critical clue!”

“Which is?”

“The Human! The Human!” Seeing the uncomprehending stare on Occo’s face, the heterochthonatrix slapped the table again. “The one you passed by on your way out. That was none other than the illuminatus Rupert Shenoy!”

The name meant absolutely nothing to Occo. But Bresk issued an exclamatory fart.

“No kidding?” said the familiar. “Shenoy — here?” Sensing her mistress’ confusion, Bresk added: “He’s famous in Human academic circles. Half-crazy, they say, but still really famous. If he’s here . . .”

Occo finished the thought. “Presumably he knows something.”

“I don’t think any ‘presumption’ is necessary,” said Rammadrecula. “But we’ll know soon enough. I will have him followed.”

Occo looked down at the Ebbo. “Not by Proceeds-With-Circumspection, I hope.”

Rammadrecula waved the notion aside. “Ebbos are no good for that sort of thing. No, for following someone in a Human environment you need to employ street urchins.”

“That term is unfamiliar to me.”

“As well it should be! Nac Zhe Anglan are a civilized people. ‘Street urchins’ are a caste Humans use for menial chores and spying. They orphan them at a very young age for the purpose. Yes, yes, it’s quite barbaric. Apparently the practice goes back to Human ancient history. Some savage named Sherlock Holmes who ruled over a land called Baker Street.”

She turned toward Proceeds-With-Circumspection. “Summon a street urchin.”

By the nature of their physiognomy, Ebbo lacked facial features mobile enough to indicate sentiments. Instead, they used wing-snaps and hindleg-rubbing. Judging from the complete immobility of the wings and hindlegs of Proceeds-With-Circumspection as it left the restaurant, the factotum disapproved of the Heterochthonatrix’s behavior but was being circumspect about it.

Shortly thereafter, the Ebbo reappeared with a little Human in tow. Occo thought it was the same one who had guided them here.

“What’s up, boss?” she asked.

Occo looked at the ceiling. Seeing the direction of her gaze, Rammadrecula shook her head.

“It’s just a Human expression,” she said, sounding amused. “It means ‘what do you want from me?’ Well, as a rule. Humans produce colloquialisms with profligacy and the things mutate like viruses.”

“Time’s a-wasting,” said the Human. “You got a job or not?”

Another colloquialism, presumably. Occo had an image of the fourth dimension, gaunt from starvation or some sort of consumptive disease. Bizarre. But what else would you expect from a species that thought deities were beneficent, in defiance of all empirical evidence?

“Show it the image,” said Rammadrecula.

“I’m a her, not an it. What is it with you people?”

Proceeds-With-Circumspection held up its tablet. The image on the screen was that of a Human — probably male, judging from the lack of thoracic extensions — whose principal characteristics seem to be a large proboscis, a great shock of white skin extrusions on top of its head, and a figure that was unusually slender even by Human standards.

“We need you to find this Human,” said Rammadrecula. “As soon as possible. His name is Rupert Shenoy.”

“ASAP jobs require a surcharge. That’ll be” — here the little female used a term that meant nothing to Occo but presumably referred to a sum in the local currency. “Half upfront, half on delivery.”

 

Gods of Sagittarius – Snippet 28

Gods of Sagittarius – Snippet 28

CHAPTER 16

Bresk turned out to be correct. The fuck-word seemed to be an essential component of Human speech. In a prison context, at least.

“What the fuck do you want?” demanded the Human seated behind a desk in the chamber to which the robot conducted them.

Fortunately, Occo had been coached by Bresk along the way.

“Shut the fuck up!” Occo bellowed. The Human sat back in its chair. The skin-excretions above its eyes seemed to elevate a bit.

<I think that’s what Humans mean by “raising eyebrows.” If so, it’s a good sign. But I wouldn’t push it too far.>

Occo lowered her voice. “I am Gadrax Never-Mind-My-Name, seeking retribution on those who inflamed my vengeance. To that end, I require your assistance.”

She spotted a slight movement to her left and turned in that direction. There was another Human in the room, sitting in a corner, whom she hadn’t spotted earlier. This was a smaller Human, wearing apparel that seemed identical to that being worn by the warden except for some slight variations in detail.

<Humans call those costumes “uniforms,” came Bresk’s thought. They seem to set great store by them. It’s some sort of status indicator.>

That was odd. Nac Zhe Anglan obsessed with social status chose costumes which set them apart and were individually distinctive.

But there was no point expecting sensible behavior from Humans, by all accounts. This was the first time Occo had ever encountered the species in person, but so far they were living up to their reputation.

“Oh, Christ,” said the Human in the corner. “She’s gone Grendel on us. Well, not on us. Walk carefully here, Chief. These critters can be touchy as all hell when they go Grendel.”

The warden looked back at Occo. Its supraorbital skin extrusions lowered noticeably.

<That’s called “frowning”> said Bresk. <Also a good sign in context. I . . . think.>

“It’s a ‘she’?” the Warden asked.

“It’s a little hard to tell with Knacks,” said the Human in the corner. “But, yeah, I’m pretty sure. You see the knobby knees? The size of the peds? If this were a male Knack, those would be less prominent. Knacks give birth not too differently from the way we do. Just squat down and drop the newcomer, like a peasant woman in a field. Which is a little weird seeing as how they don’t screw the way we do, not even close.”

“Huh!” The warden’s supraorbital skin-extrusions rose again. “Live and learn. So there aren’t any sex organs under that loincloth-thingy it — sorry, she — has wrapped around its midsection?”

“Well, no, there are. But they don’t look anything like what we’ve got.” The Human in the corner made a weird, wobbling sound.

<That’s called a “giggle”> Bresk informed Occo. <And if I’m matching the apparel decorations against my records correctly, this Human is known as a “lieutenant.” Or maybe an “officer.” Those are Human status-markers.>

“The way they have sex is really gross,” said the lieutenant. “Would you believe –”

The warden made a waving motion with his hand. “Shut up. I just ate lunch.” He brought his attention back to Occo. “So what do you want?”

“I have been informed that some prisoners here have suffer a peculiar demise which may have a bearing on my quest. If so, I wish to investigate.”

She remembered the affiche given to her by Heterochthonatrix Rammadrecula and brought it forth from her midpouch. As soon as she opened her hand, the affiche took shape as a dancing Human figure in midair and began to sing.

“It’s a long way to Tipperary,

It’s a long way to go.

It’s a long way to Tipperary

To the sweetest girl I know!”

“God, I hate that song,” said the lieutenant. “Doesn’t that Envacht Lu screwball know any other one?”

“Knacks, what do you expect?” The warden extended his hand “Cough it up, sweetheart.”

The figure stopped dancing and singing, bent over in the middle, opened its mouth and made a peculiarly horrible sound. Out of the mouth popped a whirling mote that landed in the warden’s hand.

He looked at it. “Fucking cheapskate. But, what the hell, why not? Annie, show Ms. Grendel here to the cell where the weird shit happened. I’d send the guide ‘bot but it’s waiting for a visitor” — he gave Occo a glance from those weirdly lowered skin extrusions — “who had an appointment.”

The lieutenant stood and went to the door. “Follow me,” it said.

<I think that’s a female. My records indicate that “Annie” is normally used as a name for females. And do you see those two extensions on the anterior thorax?>

Occo looked and thought she spotted the extensions that Bresk was referring to, although it was hard to tell. Humans seemed to prefer an excessive amount of apparel, which obscured most of their bodily form.

<If I’m right, those are what they call “breasts.” Also known as boobs, tits, jugs, hooters, bazookas, knockers — the list goes on and on. Humans breed words like vermin. The function of the breasts — brace yourself; this gets pretty disgusting — is to provide their younglings — >

The behavioral and anatomical description which followed was simultaneously fascinating and repugnant. Who would have imagined that a species forced to sustain its progeny on its own flesh could have developed intelligence?

The universe was a bizarre place; often, a grotesque one. Which, of course, was just further evidence if any were needed of the dangerous nature of the Old Ones as well as their enemies. Trying to choose between them and assigning “high” and “low” status to one or the other was a fool’s errand. No wonder Heterochthonatrix Rammadrecula was a loon. Being raised a scion of the Flengren Apostollege would fry anyone’s brain.

***

As Occo followed the Human lieutenant through a warren of corridors lined by cells — most of them empty, so far as she could tell — she found the experience more disconcerting that she’d expected. Abstractly, Occo had been aware that Humans were bipedal. She’d even seen holopics of them. But she now realized that she’d never seen a video depiction of Human locomotion.

The process was . . . bizarre. Bipedalism was not unheard of among sentient species, but the Human manner of it — tall, incredibly slender, completely upright — was unlike that of any other such species. Chlarrac, for instance, had a rational body plan. Their two legs simply served as the pivot on which a horizontally inclined torso was sensibly balanced by a thick and heavy tail. There was none of this preposterous balancing act that Humans had to undergo with each and every step they took.

How did they keep from falling over? Half of their nervous system must be occupied just staying upright! It was amazing that they had enough brain cells left over to feed themselves, much less engage in complex speech and logical reasoning.

They paid a steep price for their extreme bipedalism, of course. Between the excessive amount of nervous tissue devoted to the task of maintaining balance, and the inevitable strain on their circulatory system of sustaining a sufficient ichor flow to a brain so insecurely perched at the very top of their bodies, it was no wonder they were prone to theological absurdity.

She was still linked to Bresk so she could question the familiar privately.

Is it really true that they think their deities look just like them?

Bresk issued the mental equivalent of a derisive fart. <You’re giving them too much credit. Most of them think there is only one deity — they call it “God” — and believe that they were created in that deity’s image. More precisely, half of them were, since they are also firmly convinced that this God of theirs has a gender.>

Occo was dumbfounded. A gender? Why would a one-and-only-deity (and what a grotesque notion that was to begin with!) require a gender? What possible use could it have for a sexual apparatus?

I knew Humans were half-witless, but this relegates them to quarter-wit status. I can’t think of anything more ridiculous than a female deity with no male counterpart.

Again, she sensed her familiar’s neural version of a fart. <You’re still giving them too much credit. All of their religions that think there’s only one deity are firmly convinced that it’s a male, to boot.>

Again, she was dumbfounded. Occo prided herself on not sharing the unthinking disregard of males that was common among Nac Zhe Anglan, but still . . . It was just a simple fact that males were given to whims and whimsies, prone to flightiness, excessively emotional and always subject to fetishism and obsessiveness. There was the occasional exception who was a credit to his gender, but not many.

A solitary male deity! What nonsense!

***

It took a while, but eventually the Human lieutenant came to a stop in front of an open cell door. “This is it,” she said.

Occo was a little surprised. “It’s not locked?”

The lieutenant made an odd up-and-down motion with its upper arm joints.

<That’s what they call a “shrug”> Bresk informed her.

“Why bother?” said the lieutenant. “Whatever happened here — and we still don’t have any idea at all what it was — happened over a year ago.”

“Local year?” Occo asked.

“No, Standard T-year.”

<A “standard T-year” is based on the solar cycle of the Humans’ home planet> Bresk explained. <It’s 34.8% as long as a Mellan year.>

They entered a bleak cell that contained nothing beyond some sanitary facilities for simple hygiene and evacuation and three narrow and rather flimsy-looking items of furniture that looked a bit like rest benches.

<Those are called “beds” except when they’re this narrow. Then they call them “cots,” I think.>

Portions of the cots, the floor and the walls were covered with dark stains of some sort. Gauging by the pattern, those were old splatter marks.

“A lot of ichor was spilled here, I take it?” she said to the lieutenant.

The Human made that “frowning” expression. Then: “Ich — ? Oh. We call that ‘blood.’ Yes, these are blood stains. The three people in this cell were attacked by an invisible monster — well, we assume it was a monster, anyway. Then it ate about half of their bodies before it went wherever it came from. In whatever manner it came. We still have no idea what happened or what did it.”

<They must have visual recordings of some sort.>

Occo was sure Bresk was right, but saw no point in asking for them. Even if the Humans were willing to show the recordings to her, which she rather doubted, what would they show? The key to the whole incident lay in the identity of the being or beings who killed and half-devoured the Humans who’d been held captive in this cell.

There was only one sort of being who could manage such a feat. It had to have been an Old One, or one of the Other Old Ones. Or, conceivably, if the Warlock Variation Drive was to be believed, some other as-yet-unknown supernatural entity.

So. She was right to have come to Cthulhu. But Occo didn’t think the Humans who ran the prison would be of any further use to her. She needed to cogitate upon the matter.

“I thank you,” she said to the Human lieutenant. “I have seen enough.”

Without another word, the lieutenant left the cell and returned the way they’d come, with Occo and Bresk following behind.