Eric Flint's Blog, page 206

Through Fire – Snippet 43

Through Fire – Snippet 43

I Am Crying All Inside

A guard suddenly appeared in front of me, materializing out of a side hallway. I killed him, jumped over his body. Jonathan LaForce leapt next to me. He shot someone out of my line-of-sight. I gathered the person would have killed me, otherwise.

“More guts than thought,” he said, as if he approved, while I was shooting the next man.

There were people pouring in after us, but I didn’t know who they were. I knew who Jonathan was and he knew what my objective was. “Simon?” I said. “I don’t know–”

He nodded and gestured. “That way,” he said. “The deeper levels.”

We ran forward and got caught in a gravity well that lifted us. Other people weren’t following us, but were fanning all over that floor. There were sounds of burners going off, and screams and swearing.

As we landed on the floor above, moving our feet to the safety zone to avoid being pulled up yet another floor, LaForce said, “There are other prisoners.” And as he started at a cautious trot down the hallway in front of us, he added. “There are people on this level who were headed for execution. A lot of the people who chose to help–” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. Throughout history friends, relatives and sympathizers of prisoners had broken them out of prison. We ran down a hallway. LaForce burned a lock, kicked a door down, ran in. I followed He fell almost immediately into a grav well, and I burned the man who would have burned him. Then I jumped into the well.

Other people came up behind us. I swept upward with my burner, but they seemed as fast as I was and jumped out of the way.

At the end well, Jonathan moved from dropping to running with unreal speed and I followed suit as best I could, running alongside him, down ever narrowing corridors. This area was, surprisingly, unguarded; all pursuit behind us, manifested mostly as the sound of pounding feet in heavy military boots.

I turned and did another sweep with the burner, but our pursuers got out of the way. A couple returned fire. Jonathan LaForce said, “Merde!” and I turned in time to burn two men who stood in front of a ridiculously armored door.

Jonathan was kicking at it, but I turned my burner to hot beam and melted the lock, to lend assistance.

The door opened suddenly with a sickening sound of rusty metal.

The room inside was bigger than a cell. It didn’t look like a cell, either. It looked like an amphitheater set up for media presentations. There were several holo pick-ups all around.

In the center of the room–

It took me a minute to absorb, to understand this was Simon.

They’d made him kneel at what looked like another laser guillotine. I don’t know how. He wasn’t bound. He might have been drugged or otherwise incapacitated. I screamed, “Simon,” but he didn’t turn.

Before I could lift my burner, before I could do anything, there was a buzz of the laser blade activating, very loud in the silence. I realized not only had no one in the room reacted to our arrival, but there were no sounds behind us. It was as though everything had stopped — but nothing could stop the laser blade.

It descended very fast and yet it seemed to take centuries.

Simon didn’t react. When the blade touched his neck, he twitched and made a sound that was more than breath, but less than a scream.

His head rolled. His body fell. One of the men who’d been standing by moved very quickly, grabbed the head and lifted it, so the holo pickups would get it. The expression looked blank, save for the eyes, which still appeared to be trying to focus. The neck dripped blood. More blood ran down the white uniform sleeve of the guard, as he proclaimed, “Le roi est mort.”

Suddenly, the entire room came to life. Guards headed for us at a gallop, Madame who, in her medals, had been watching the execution with a dignified expression of sorrowful wrath, broke pose and said, “Seize them.”

Men behind us grabbed our shoulders and held us tight.

To Your Scattered Bodies Go

Jonathan said, “Merde,” and moved, a blur of motion so fast that I couldn’t track what he was doing. He elbowed someone in the solar plexus, and I had a vague idea that he put out the eyes another with the fingers of his other hand. Then he shot the man holding me, “Run,” he said.

I shot the two men he had incapacitated before they could recover enough to make trouble, and then shot the man still holding me at close quarters. I don’t know why they hadn’t killed us. But they hadn’t. Perhaps they wanted us for the guillotine.

They were fast but I was faster. And stronger. And possibly smarter. Or maybe they simply suffered from the instinctive recoil that prevents males from seriously injuring a female.

I became a whirlwind of death. In Eden there are varying levels of dueling, and the most basic one is “bare hands.” Bare hands can be to first injury or to death. Responsible parents have their children trained. My parents had had me trained for an unusual reason. While I was faster, stronger and smarter than most other children and they couldn’t be afraid I wouldn’t be able to defend myself, they were afraid I’d get in a fight and accidentally kill someone, unless I knew what killed and how to prevent myself from doing it.

The training had gone on for years, and most of it was acquired at an instinctive level, particularly the self-defense when threatened. Now that instinct kicked in. I kicked, gouged, bit. Once the men holding me had been disabled, they were shot. Then I killed enough of the ones in the hallway to clear a path for us. When Jonathan didn’t react, I realized he was stunned, whether by my speed or my lack of restraint, I didn’t know. I didn’t really care. All I knew was Earth has odd social rules.

I reached over, grabbed his arm and pulled. “Run!”

For a moment I worried he was wounded or wouldn’t react. But he did and, as I started running, pulling him behind me, he caught not only my speed but the import of my dodging and ducking so the men in the sidelines could not grab us.

We ran and dodged. I heard him fire his burner twice. I also heard people fire their burners at us. It didn’t matter. We were moving too fast and weaving too much for them to get an easy fix on us.

We left the prison by a side door, and I scrambled up a wooded slope, all the while pulling Jonathan, all the while keeping an ear out for pursuit.

At the top of the slope, I pulled him behind a rock and fell on my belly. He flopped down beside me, breathing hard.

“Are you hurt?” was his first question.

I shook my head, and he gave me a careful, squinting glare. “Are you sure?”

I nodded, trying to comprehend what we’d seen. Simon was dead. My entire mission; everything I’d come back to Liberte to do, had failed. Thoughts pushed in, all related to that that one theme. If Simon was dead, Liberte was powerless before the invasion that was about to happen. If Simon was dead, there was nothing I could do to stop the killing. As helplessness and grief and a sort of despairing rage washed over me, LaForce said, “Good. You run now.”

I turned in shock. “You’re hurt?”

He shook his head. “Nothing that matters. But if we run in different directions–”

“No,” I said. “I will not let you sacrifice yourself for me.”

“But you’d sacrifice yourself?” he said. “For me, for the Patrician, for Liberte?”

I blinked. I started to say I wasn’t sacrificing myself for anyone, but he repeated forcefully one word. “Run.”

I stared for a second, and then he said, “The longer you stay, the more likely we’ll both be caught. They’re organizing pursuit. They’ll be here. If your similarity to the Patrician’s guest has been noted, you’ll be hunted house to house. Being with you will make me less safe. Now run.”

I could hear voices and footsteps behind us, coming up the slope.

I ran.

While I ran, my mind analyzed the situation. Run in zigzags so they won’t catch me. Get as far away from the palace as possible, far enough away that no one would think I was the same person. Find a crowd. Meld.

All this was done more or less by instinct and without thought. I ran through the grounds of the palace, avoiding the sounds of humans without pausing to think or analyze them. I ran to the furthest point of the garden as fast as I could. I scrambled up a dimatough wall, vaulted it, and ran straight out, as far from the palace as I could go, towards the low lying area where the working people were.

Did I consciously run towards the motel I’d used with Brisbois before? Not on purpose. Perhaps my subconscious guided me there, because I’d been safe there before. But if I’d considered it at all, I’d have thought of the danger. The more you repeat an action, the more likely you are to be caught at it.

When I found myself in front of the motel, no one was here who looked like they might be searching for me. I was, at any rate, far enough from the palace, it would take a while for them to get here. Almost as important, we still had the lease for the room, and, well, there was a good chance I could…. What? Pretend to be someone else? Certainly pretend to be asleep. At any rate, the chances of any pursuers choosing to break into this particularly room… I verified the camera was still broken by the entrance, and then I punched the code into the door and stepped in. Three steps, and I looked up and froze.

Brisbois and someone else were in the room. I didn’t see the someone else clearly because he was half in shadows and because I was staring at Brisbois in disbelief.

“About time you got here,” he said. “Come in and shut the door.”

I went in. I shut the door. Which was when I realized he was pointing a burner at my heart.

 

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 58

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 58

Chapter 11

Dr. Phil’s Friends

May 1632, Grantville

The owners of Grantville’s three pharmacies had gathered together to share out the latest shipment of Dr. Gribbleflotz’ Sal Vin Betula, or as it was known colloquially, Dr. Gribbleflotz’ Blue Pills of Happiness. Tino Nobili, by virtue of his connection with the Kubiaks and HDG Enterprizes, was in charge of sharing out the pills.

Lasso Trelli trusted Tino not to take more than his fair share, so he let his mind wander a bit. His eyes wandered around Tino’s office, and came to a shuddering stop when they fell on the old ceramic chemical jars Tino had lined up on a shelf. A light-bulb moment followed. “You know, guys,” he said as he tried to suppress his excitement.

Tino and John Moss turned to Lasso. “What?” John asked.

“Yeah, what’s got you so excited?” Tino asked.

“I just had a great idea for something we can sell,” Lasso said.

“What?” Tino asked.

“Chemistry sets,” Lasso said. He saw Tino and John’s eyes light up. “Yeah, children’s chemistry sets. Not the silly politically correct things they were making back up-time, but the proper ones, like the ones that got us interested in chemistry in the first place.”

John grinned. “Did you make stink bombs?”

“Of course,” Lasso said. “Didn’t everyone?”

John and Tino nodded. “There’ll be resistance from the mothers,” Tino warned.

“So we offer them in junior, intermediate and senior levels,” Lasso said, “with each level adding more chemicals and experiments.”

“Anyway,” John added, “it’ll only be the American mothers that want to keep their babies in leading strings. The down-timers will see the fortunes Tom Stone and Dr. Gribbleflotz are making and decide they want their children to be just like them.”

Lasso stared at John. “You know,” he said before stumbling to a halt.

“I know what?” John asked.

“If we could get Dr. Gribbleflotz to lend his name to the chemistry sets . . .”

Tino whistled. “That’d be great. We could have a line of Dr. Gribbleflotz chemistry sets, suitable for different agers and levels of ability, why . . .”

“So how do we go about approaching him?” John asked.

“I could ask Tracy, I suppose,” Tino said with an obvious lack of enthusiasm.

“Jonathan Fortney might be a better bet,” Lasso said.

“What makes you say that?” Tino asked. “Tracy has a direct line to Dr. Gribbleflotz.”

“So does Jonathan,” Lasso said. He smiled conspiratorially at John and Tino. “Late last year he asked me about getting some iodine for Dr. Gribbleflotz. I told him I could get it, but that Tracy would probably buy it from you”

Tino nodded. “That’s right. I sold Tracy a couple of pounds, though what he wants to do with it . . .”

Lasso snorted in disbelief. “Can’t you guess?” he asked. Tino looked back at him blankly. “Spirits of Hartshorn,” he said, giving him a clue.

“Triiodide!” Tino’s eyes lit up. “You think Dr. Gribbleflotz is making ammonia triiodide?”

“I know he is,” Lasso said. “Jonathan told me that Dr. Gribbleflotz has included a simple demonstration of triiodide in his regular public seminars.”

“So you think Jonathan might be able to persuade Dr. Gribbleflotz to lend his name to a line of chemistry sets?” Johan asked.

Lasso shrugged. “It won’t hurt to ask.”

“Before we ask him to talk to Dr. Gribbleflotz, it might be a good idea to find out what chemicals we can get, and what sorts of things can be done with them,” John said.

A couple of weeks later, Grantville

Jonathan lined up the stone on the drive and kicked it. It shot away a satisfying distance. He should have known better than to volunteer to do anything. Of course, he wouldn’t have felt half so disgruntled if he hadn’t punctured halfway up Mahan Run and discovered he didn’t have a tire lever. A few minutes later he turned up the drive to Ted and Tracy Kubiaks home. He wheeled his bicycle up to the house and leaned it against the wall.

“Hi, Jonathan. You got a problem?”

Jonathan looked up and saw Ted leaning against the deck’s railing. “A puncture. I don’t suppose you have a tire lever? I’ve got a repair kit, but I seem to have left the tire lever at home.”

“There’re a couple of forks I use in the kitchen,” Ted said as he pushed himself off from the railing. He glanced back to Jonathan and waved for him to take the stairs onto the deck. “Truth be told, I was actually wondering what brings you out this way. We’re a bit off your beaten track.”

“Mr. Trelli and the other pharmacy owners have an idea they wanted to put to Dr. Gribbleflotz.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here?” Ted said.

Jonathan grinned. “I’m here because, although I think it’s a great idea, I’m pretty sure Dr. Gribbleflotz won’t be interested,” he said as he collected the promotional material Mr. Trelli had given him and started up the stairs.

Ted stood aside to let Jonathan past. “Interested in what?”

“In lending his name to a line of chemistry sets.” Jonathan pulled out a roughed out sketch of a possible box cover and handed it to Ted. “Mr. Trelli and the other pharmacy owners want to launch a range of chemistry sets, and they’d like to use Dr. Gribbleflotz’ name.”

Ted held the paper up and looked at it. “A ‘Dr. Gribbleflotz Junior Chemist’?” He grinned at Jonathan. “What makes you think Dr. Gribbleflotz won’t be interested?

“It’s not that I think he’d object,” Jonathan hastened to say, “but I don’t think he cares about anything other than his research.” He shrugged. “If it was presented to him in the right way, and he didn’t have to do anything, then I’m pretty sure he’d agree to let his name be used.”

“What’s in it for you?” Ted asked.

“For me?” Jonathan stared at Ted. He hadn’t thought of asking for anything. “I’m just doing Mr. Trelli a favor.”

“You’ll never make a businessman,” Ted said as he guided Jonathan into the house. “Tracy, Jonathan’s here,” he called out as he led Jonathan through the house. “What else is in the box?” he asked.

Jonathan readjusted his hold on the box. “Mr. Trelli and the other owners collected what equipment they could and made up some sample chemistry sets.”

“Well,” Ted said as he guided Jonathan into the lounge, “I’m sure Dr. Gribbleflotz will appreciate the extra chemicals.”

Jonathan had time to see that Mrs. Kubiak was comforting a tearful Richelle before her adopted teenage daughter looked up, saw him, and bolted. “Was that because of me?’ He asked, hurt that anyone would run away from him like that.

“Sort of,” Tracy said. “Some boys at school are giving her a hard time.”

“So I got tarred with the same brush,” Jonathan muttered.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Don’t take it too much to heart, Jonathan.” Ted turned to Tracy. “Tell me who they are and I’ll sort them out.”

“I’d rather it didn’t come to that,” Tracy said, “but they’re pestering her while she waits for the bus to Mahan Run.” She signed heavily before turning to Jonathan. “What brings you here?”

Jonathan licked his lips. Now was probably not a good time to make his sales pitch. He glanced at Ted, who nodded. Taking that as an indication to go on, Jonathan laid the wooden box he’d been carrying on the floor and grabbed the various promotional sketches the pharmacy owners had put together and offered them to Tracy. “Mr. Trelli and the other pharmacy owners would like to start selling a range of children’s chemistry sets.”

Tracy shot a glance towards the door Richelle had bolted, sighed, and then turned back to Jonathan. “What’s that got to do with us?” she asked as she accepted the papers.

“Look at the advertising Jonathan handed you, Tracy,” Ted said. “They want to use Dr. Gribbleflotz’ name on their chemistry sets.”

Tracy looked at the various proposed box covers and other advertising she’d been handed for a while, then handed it back, shaking her head. “I can’t see Dr. Phil being interested.”

“Dr. Phil?” Jonathan asked.

Tracy blushed.

“It’s a pet name for Dr. Gribbleflotz,” Ted said. “We’d prefer that you don’t use it, especially not around him.”

“No problem,” Jonathan said with a cheeky grin. “I don’t fancy trying to explain Oprah to Dr. Gribbleflotz.” He turned back to Tracy. “I agree that he probably won’t be interested, Mrs. Kubiak, but I don’t think he’ll mind if you were to approve the licensing agreement. It’s not as if Mr. Trelli and the others expect him to actually make and market the chemistry sets.”

Tracy nodded absently. Jonathan could see that most of her attention was still on the door Richelle had run through. He shot the door a quick glance, and thought he caught a glimpse of the girl before she drew her head back. He didn’t like to think that she was being victimized by some kids at school and offered a possible solution to the problem. “My sister’s attending some dance classes Miz Bitty is giving to her old students after school. I could ask Lynette to keep an eye on Richelle while she’s waiting for the bus.”

“Dance class?” Richelle appeared in the doorway. “I could dance?”

The life in Richelle’s face was a revelation to Jonathan. She looked like a completely different girl. “It’s ballet,” he warned.

“Dancing,” Richelle said with a distracted look on her face. “I loved to dance.”

“Then that’s settled,” Tracy said. “I’ll call Bitty and arrange for you to join her after school classes.”

Richelle ran across the room and hugged Tracy. She shot Jonathan a wary look before dashing out of the room.

Jonathan had been watching the girl all the time, and now, with her out of the room, his eyes drifted back to Ted and Tracy Kubiak, whom he discovered were both looking at him.

“Thank you,” Tracy said.

It was a simple statement, but Jonathan knew it came from the heart. “I didn’t do anything,” he protested. Still, seeing the tension leaving Tracy’s body, he resolved to ask his sister to keep an eye on Richelle anyway.

“You did more than you can imagine,” Ted said. “That’s the most animated I’ve seen Richelle since we took her in.”

A couple of days later, Jena

Phillip was busy writing up his latest experiment in his journal when Hans called from over by the window. “Herr Dr. Gribbleflotz, Herr Fortney has just arrived on his bicycle, and he’s got a big box tied to the carrier.”

Phillip thrust his dip pen into the holder and rushed over to the window, just managing to catch a glimpse of Jonathan before he passed through the door into the main office. He was carrying a large wooden box in his arms. Phillip turned to look at Hans, who’d turned to look at him. Both then looked over at the fume cupboard, which Hans had only recently cleaned after their last experiment. Their eyes then checked the work benches. Everything was tidy. Their eyes met again, and as one they started for the door. Hans, being the subordinate, paused long enough for Phillip to go first. Within minutes they were in the kitchen, which tended to double as the place where everyone congregated when they weren’t working, or as in this case, when someone interesting turned up.

“Hello, Jonathan,” Phillip said as he gently pushed his way through the laborants who were eagerly looking at the smaller boxes Jonathan was removing from the larger box. Phillip got close enough to identify the boxes. “Chemistry sets? I already have chemistry sets.”

“Not like these, Dr. Gribbleflotz,” Jonathan said as he laid some sheets of paper out on the kitchen table.

Intrigued, Phillip wiped the new spectacles Dr. Shipley, the Grantville optometrist, had made for him clean before having a good look at the papers. They looked like the covers of some of the up-time chemistry sets the Kubiaks had given him a few months ago, except these were slightly different. “The Dr. Gribbleflotz Junior Alchemist Set?” he asked after looking at the first one.

Jonathan nodded. “The Grantville pharmacies want to sell a range of chemistry sets, and Frau Kubiak is agreeable to licensing the use of your name, if you’re willing.

Phillip caught the “range of chemistry sets” and checked out the other papers. In addition to the junior set there were also intermediate and advanced versions. “Why do they want to use my name?” he asked.

Jonathan smiled. “Brand awareness. To most people in and around Grantville your name’s synonymous with alchemy. Anyone who hasn’t heard of your blue pills of happiness must have been asleep the last six months, and then there’s the Gribbleflotz jingle.”

 

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 42

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 42

Chapter 21

Aille stared at the image of the great red sun in the main view screen. Solar flares from the IS class variable were evident as it neared the end of its contraction cycle. He looked to Terra-Captain Sanzh as he completed giving orders to the navigator.

“Caitlin’s fleet made an assault jump through that star?”

“Yes, Governor.”

Aille’s angles shifted to gratified-respect, echoed a moment later by Yaut. “Let us be thankful that General Kralik had the wisdom to find a Frame Point ship, and that Director Kralik had the wisdom to take it with her fleet.”

He looked out of the corner of his eye to where Ed Kralik stood. The human’s posture was not Jao, but every line of his face and body was so still that it appeared to be the human equivalent of the neutral that Pleniary-superior Tura was displaying on his other side. Aille suspected that Kralik was getting a much deeper appreciation of just what Caitlin had been doing for the last year or more. It also looked like the general didn’t much care for that knowledge.

Aille turned his focus back to Terra-Captain Sanzh. “Has your navigator located the next Frame Point?”

“She has.”

“Pass orders to the other ships. When she is ready, begin the jumps.”

****

Lim looked at Zhao across the mat.

“You want me to what?”

“Put off your robes, please.” The human was calm. “You are not human. I am sure I can teach you, but before I can begin I must see how your body moves. I can only tell so much from video images.”

They were standing on a mat in a corner of the gymnasium compartment. Human and Jao jinau were working at every machine and every mat in sight. All seemed to be ignoring them.

Lim considered Zhao’s request. Looked at from his perspective as a teacher, she decided it was reasonable. She began to open her robes, preparing to remove them as Zhao had asked. His eyes widened and he held up a hand. “You can go in the dressing room to change.”

Lim stopped and looked at the human, tilting her head slightly as she considered him. “Lleix have no nudity taboo,” she said after a moment.

Zhao’s eyes crinkled as he grinned. “But humans do, and even more, we are curious. If you strip down here, we’ll be surrounded by the curious and neither we nor they will accomplish anything this afternoon.”

Lim restored her robes to their normal hang. “You don’t want me in my robes, and you don’t want me in my skin. Just how is it you expect to accomplish your goal?”

Zhao’s grin grew even wider as he held up a bag. “Inside this is a set of workout clothes that I think will fit you. You should be able to figure out how to put them on; you’ve seen humans in similar clothes for years now.” He handed it to her and pointed toward a door. “You will find cubicles in there where you can store your robes and put these on.”

Lim took the bag, and did as she was asked. Once in a cubicle, as Zhao called it, she carefully hung her robes–first outer, then inner–from hooks in the wall. And he was correct; she had very little trouble with donning the loose trousers and the sweatshirt that were in the bag. It did help a little that he had attached labels that said “front” to one side of each.

She looked at herself in a mirror that hung on the back of the cubicle door. A very strange reflection stared back at her, a Lleix head popping out of human clothing. If only Jihan could see her now, she mused. Even the head of Terralore elian, Jihan, herself considered radical by many of the Lleix that had reluctantly followed her lead, might be taken aback by what Lim was doing. She raised her hand to shoulder level. The sight of a Lleix hand coming out of a human sleeve gave her a moment of insight into human humor.

She reached for the door handle, and left to join Zhao on the mat.

****

Third-Mordent spun out of the reach of the Ekhat facing her in the dance hall. A male, he was bigger than she, and made it clear he would put her down if he could. He had sung nothing in her hearing; had simply rushed her as soon as Ninth-Minor-Sustained had admitted him into the room.

She recalled her ancestor’s instructions given moments before the male was admitted. “Control. You will control the fight. You may strike lightly with your forehand blades, but no biting. Dominate him by your skill, not your rage.”

Despite his size, the male was not as fast as Third-Mordent, and so their dance took an inevitable pattern, with the male making short rushes and turning in the center of the room as Third-Mordent danced around him, forehand blades flicking out, creating patterns of cuts on his white tegument. White ichor oozed out until the male looked as if he had been rolling in it.

The pattern spoke to Third-Mordent, called to her, until an aria took shape in her mind. As she evaded one strong rush, she began to sing the aria, high, strong and cutting, fractal-toned. Her steps began to follow the melody patterns; swooping, jumping, sliding. The male was confused, and as she sang, he more and more would respond to the melody, steps and cuts falling into the pattern of Third-Mordent’s music.

She began to shape the music, using it to drive him back, back, back; cutting off his attempts to reach her flanks. The music grew–in length, in volume, in complexity, in power–and the male continued to retreat before her, eyes rolling wildly, forehand blades flailing almost at random as she danced in to make more touches with her own blades.

The aria crested in a blast of rapidly down-pouring fractal notes that drove the male to huddle on the floor. Third-Mordent brought the aria to a conclusion with a single attenuating tone that died away slowly until even she wasn’t quite sure when it ended.

Ninth-Minor-Sustained entered the room from another door and advanced until she stood before Third-Mordent. “Not what I anticipated,” she sang. “Effective, though.” She turned to look at the unstirring male. “Complete him.”

Third-Mordent turned her head to look at her ancestor, saying nothing but raising a question just the same.

Ninth-Minor-Sustained spun and stared down at her progeny. Third-Mordent held still.

“If he cannot resist even a youngling like you better than that, he is not strong enough to be bred. Complete him. Now.”

Third-Mordent lifted a forehand blade and did as she was commanded.

****

Caitlin’s com pad pinged, and she tapped it with her finger. Lieutenant Vaughan’s face appeared. “Yes?”

Vaughan grinned at her. “We have sufficient data that the Starsifters have identified the probable source of the signals. It’s a G5V class star much like our sun, lying near the edge of the Sagittarius Arm proper. We’ll be out of the inter-arm void when we land there.”

“Good!” Caitlin’s face spread in a grin of her own. “I’m ready to be in new territory, and it’s great that we have a possibility this fast. When does Dannet think we can begin the shift?”

“We’re waiting on the Bond ship to finish tuning the new Frame Point, then we’ll be ready to leave. All ships report ready now.”

“Do we have a read on planets?” Caitlin asked.

Vaughan looked down then back up. “Enough to know there are some.”

“Notify me when the Bond ship reports.”

“Will do, Director.”

Vaughan’s face winked out of the com pad. Caitlin sat back, laughing. It was all she could do to not rub her hands together. They had survived the jumps, and now . . . now it appeared she was going to be proven right. A prospective civilization with at least some level of industrial technology was in their sights.

Caitlin gave up restraint and clapped her hands together, laughing louder. It was going to work. After all this time, Preceptor Ronz’s vision was going to be proved out. If the old strategist was here, she’d have thrown her arms around him in a big hug. She wrapped her arms around herself instead.

“It’s going to work,” she whispered.

****

“Hey, Joe,” Zhao heard from behind him as he walked down the corridor. “Wait up.” He turned to see Gabe Tully–Colonel Tully, actually, since he was in uniform and wearing his rank emblems–walking toward him. He walked backward slowly, waiting on Gabe to draw even to him, at which point he resumed normal progress. “Were you looking for me?” he asked.

“Actually, yeah,” Gabe replied. “First off, that Szechuan beef with artichokes and quinoa pasta was awesome the other night. That needs to go into the regular meal rotation.”

“Yeah, the head cook’s already hit me up for the recipe. I suspect you’ll see it again before too long.”

“Great!” Tully grinned, which made him look even younger than he was. And that reminded Zhao that Tully, for all his rank, was not exactly a graybeard yet.

“And since that was first, there must be a second. Hmm?” Zhao arched his eyebrows.

Tully looked around, then dropped his voice. “How is Lim doing? I mean, don’t violate any master/student stuff, but I’d like to know if she’s doing okay.”

“No great secrets, Gabe.” Zhao spread his hands. “We’re actually moving kind of slowly, because I have to rethink everything from how it works with a human body to how it will work with a Lleix body. I mean, one body, one head, two arms, two hands, two legs, two feet, yeah–but it all works differently, if you see what I mean.” He grinned.

“Yeah,” Gabe grinned back. “I kind of figured it might. But she’s doing okay?”

“Better than okay. I have to slow her down, make her do other stuff. She’s pretty focused.”

Gabe snorted. “Oh, yeah. Lim could teach focus to a laser drill.”

Zhao laughed, but he could see the point.

Gabe looked around. “Okay, gotta split off here and go be the colonel. Thanks for the chat, Joe.”

And with a wave of his hand, Gabe was gone down a cross-corridor.

Zhao chuckled. Gabe talking about Lim being super-focused was a bit of the pot and the kettle, he thought.

****

Caitlin strode into the command deck, followed by Tamt, Captain Miller, and a couple of the rank and file bodyguards. She stopped three steps inside to take stock of the crew. Caitlin could always get a feel for how serious things were just by watching the command deck staff. Even the mostly stolid Jao would develop stiffness in their angles if things got dicey. The humans, of course, could be read like a book; more than that–after working with and reading Jao postures, reading humans was like reading a primer. Her mouth quirked at that thought. Somehow she didn’t think most humans, including her father, would appreciate being compared to “See Dick run,” when someone like Aille would be like reading James Joyce’s Ulysses.

The crew was serious, on task, excited, but still relaxed. So, no one expected trouble with this jump. Good.

She stepped up beside Fleet Commander Dannet.

The big Jao looked her way. “Director. The fleet is ready to proceed.”

Caitlin let her angles flow into accepting-information, then on to accepting-responsibility. “Very good. Begin.”

She walked over and sat down at her customary station. She was actually learning to read some of the readouts that Lieutenant Vaughan routed her way.

Dannet turned to the communications officer. “Orders to Ban Chao. Jump when you are ready.”

Caitlin sat back in her seat, excitement building. This was it! A chance to meet a new species who perhaps knew nothing of the Ekhat. An opportunity long desired, now at hand.

She leaned forward in her seat, waiting for Lexington to follow the pathfinder.

 

Through Fire – Snippet 42

Through Fire – Snippet 42

Party Line

The plaza was full. At first I thought our recruiting efforts had successful beyond all expectations. Then I feared none of them had anything to do with us.

I was wrong on both counts, I realized as I caught a glimpse of LaForce in the crowd. He had changed his clothes, and wore something that looked like a vending-machine worker suit in bright blue. There were other familiar faces in that crowd, faces I vaguely remembered seeing around the palace and which I had assumed were Simon’s surviving guards and other servants. There were a lot of them, too many considering how many people we had contacted. But then we’d recruited those people and told them to warn and recruit others. I knew the mechanics of exponential build-up, so I knew this was possible.

But it also didn’t take very long to realize that not everyone on this plaza could be a friendly. For one, there were people wearing white uniforms with splashes of red and blue, their heads crowned with the red Frisian cap. Though I had not seen this exact uniform, it felt familiar. The colors echoed what Rose Parr had worn, and both were bright and bold like a shout in a small room.

More dangerous than those were other people moving through the crowd.

Look, I can’t even tell how I knew they weren’t on our side, but my mind picked up on an accumulation of signs and behaviors. Perhaps it was the fact that none of those on our seemed to pay any attention to Jonathan LaForce or any of the other people I recognized. All those, without talking, traded looks that meant “I know you and I’m on your side.” These others didn’t. On the contrary. Their eyes would go slanty-hard as they looked around. There was something about them that made me think they should have been in uniform, but not only were they not, but none of them was anyone I remembered as Simon’s guard.

They moved warily, like people who on a mission. No. More than that. Like trained, disciplined soldiers on patrol and afraid the crowd would get out of control.

Back on Eden there are no laws as such, though there are customs, societal best practices, enforced by tradition and common vigilance.

As such, there are no trained policemen, no trained army. However, when I had met people who were part of either on Earth, I recognized their way of standing and, often, their way of looking around.

You see, on Eden there were two groups of people trained to do what society as a whole needed. I had been a member of one and close to members of the other.

One was the darkship pilots and navigators. Darkship thieves, as Earth called us, and I supposed they were right since technically we stole powerpods grown on the biological solar collector ring that orbited the Earth. In a practical sense, the pods were more than surplus, and trimming them was probably a service to the Earth. You see, the powertrees grew exponentially. No one knew how to trim the planting, the secret of which had left Earth — and died — with Jarl Ingemar, who had designed it. Powerpods that were not caught in time, exploded and seeded themselves. This had made the neat power tree ring of the late twenty first century into a thicket, which in turn had made it harder to harvest and caused it to become more unstable and dangerous. So our stealing of the pods made the ring safer for Earth’s harvesters. Though, of course, I could understand their not seeing it that way.

At any rate, from Eden’s point of view, the darkship pilots and navigators were unalloyed good, providing a service without which the entire society would starve for lack of energy. Because of that, and because the mission was dangerous, the people in the corps, usually designed before birth for the task by being given the special viral infections that changed our genes in the desired way, learned a discipline and a dedication quite absent from our peers. That resulted in protocols, designed to not give information to Earth, designed to bring us safely back to Eden when the mission was done. These protocols were rigid and unbreaking and had to be so ingrained that they could be obeyed even while ill or scared or even dying.

The training, the instillation of principles and routines made us different, harder. It made us stand differently and move differently. It made us more than private individuals swayed by private individual ideas or cravings.

Pilots and navigators of Eden behaved and stood much like the police and military on Earth. So did the hushers of Eden, the informal, all voluntary group that was supposed to protect Eden should the Earth trace us and break in, or send an envoy.

The hushers weren’t a proper paramilitary corps. It didn’t have uniforms. The training it had was minimal. Its members were teenagers.

But its members were teenagers who, while they might be playing at defense, knew that the stakes were deadly. They’d been shown holos or some hastily taken videos of the Turmoils. They knew Earth had laws against modified people and that if it got into Eden, it would almost surely kill us all, and do so in the most horrible of ways.

As such, the game they were playing could turn lethal at any minute and they knew that as well as anyone else. They knew that if faced with a real threat, they would all, likely, die first, simply to provide the citizenry-at-large with a warning of an impending invasion that might, under very optimistic odds, give Eden the ability to survive.

They too stood and looked as though what they did was more important than they themselves were. Particularly when one came limping home, with one’s ship half-dead and one’s spouse wholly so. I remembered those young men — though there wasn’t a rule about it, the hushers were almost always men — standing with grim faces, while some pointed weapons at me and two of them inspected my ship.

They had to do it, because a ship that damaged couldn’t be scanned. The radiation permeating its very walls prevented that. Which meant that men wearing radiation-proof suits could be sequestered aboard; the beginning of an invasion force that would open the floodgates to the Earth.

The people in the crowd that I was sure weren’t friendlies looked like those young men. Not very well trained, so not every movement was disciplined, unlike a policeman’s or soldier’s. But they were people on a mission, people doing something.

As I looked around the plaza, I wondered if they knew what they were doing, precisely, or if what they were doing was looking for potential trouble: if some instinct, some thought, had made them aware of the possibility of an attack. Or if they simply knew with the Patrician clapped in his own dungeons someone was bound to attempt to free him.

Two things became obvious as I milled around. The first was that every one of the men and women in what we’ll call the spook corps were carrying weapons. You could see the bulges in their clothes, or simply follow the way their hands kept slipping to the butt of a concealed gun. In seeing it, I had to consciously avoid going for my own weapon, but I did so, with an effort of will.

The second was that the spooks did not like this crowd assembling in the plaza. They looked hyper-alert and hyper-suspicious, as though the influx of people were a personal affront or a personal danger.

Mailys caught up with me, stood right behind me, and said in a whisper that was just audible, “The fun is about to begin.”

She hadn’t bent to talk to me, nor got in any way nearer than merely standing behind me, so I didn’t know how to respond, but I half turned. Otherwise she wouldn’t hear my voice, even as those standing in front of me would be able to read my lips. “There are people here on the alert,” I said. “People who aren’t of us, and who aren’t in uniform.”

She said something in response. I couldn’t hear it clearly and it sounded like, “What? Madame’s trained monkeys?” but just as she said it, I realized a signal must have passed among our side, something I wasn’t privy to, not being born and raised in the seacity.

The milling of the crowd changed. A group organized, with people in the front making a rush towards a side entrance to the palace. I didn’t know why the side entrance, though I had a vague idea it might be the more direct route to the dungeon. What I did know was that Jonathan LaForce led it, running effortlessly forward, followed by a crowd that ran just as fast and like they’d trained for it. It seemed to me they shouted, “En avant” as they ran.

Like that, yet a third group of hostiles appeared, running out of the palace. These men were trained and knew what they were doing. I didn’t know if what they wore were uniforms. They wore some sort of drab jumpsuit. I didn’t spend much time studying them. They were armed with weapons, which they fired above the crowd. The crowd backed up, Jonathan LaForce in the middle, clearly not willing to be the first to return fire.

Somehow, with no thought or coordination, I’d moved forward, and I was now standing near the front of the crowd who’d made a run for the palace.

I noted by the corner of my eye that the first group of spooks I’d spotted in the crowd were moving into position, circling the group that had made the offensive, including those like Mailys and myself who had moved in afterwards, actuated by who knew what annoying protective instinct.

There were more of us, I knew, in the plaza-at-large. More people called upon by Mailys and me; more people who had been cajoled or guilted into this quixotic attempt to free Simon. But once those trained men had gotten into position, they would be no more able to join and help us or protect us than if we were on another planet. The spooks were professionals and would ruthlessly cut them all down in the attempt.

The men in white uniforms had moved in front of the palace entrance, but behind the men who’d fired above the crowd’s heads.

I ignored the uniformed people. There is a good rule of thumb in how to deal with someone who is armed and who might be hostile to you, and that is to look into their eyes.

In this case, the eyes of the uniformed men looked a little scared, a lot puzzled, caught somewhere between a wish that they weren’t there at all and a sense of panic.

But the eyes of the men who’d already fired looked sharp, attentive. They were following the spooks dispersing themselves around our group. The movement was not obvious, unless you knew what to look for. If it were obvious, the people about to become entrapped might panic and bolt. And if it didn’t become obvious? Well then the people would be trapped. And then? Who knew? They might kill us in batch lots, working from all sides, though that required rather precise settings on the burners if it weren’t to become a circular firing squad. Or they could march us off towards the newer version of Madame la Guillotine.

Where do our actions come from? From what deep well of thought and fear, of rationality and emotion do our sudden actions spring?

At the thought of having my head chopped off, just like the people I’d seen on the holo, at the memory of that lamentable spectacle, something sprang into place and combined with my certainty that we must get in and free Simon. With the thought of the invasion massing in the waters around Liberte, the invasion only he would know how to counter, and with the certainty that something horrible was about to be unleash upon us, I saw no other option.

I reached for my burner.

I could have talked, I suppose, and made some great speech. But I had a bad feeling the great historical speeches that had roused people to action throughout history only happened in historical or fictional holos.

The reality of here and now only allowed for one type of action. I had my burner out, had set it on cut and was sweeping through the line of non-uniformed men ready to shoot us.

My faster than human speed allowed me to get most of them before they could shoot. But the ones on the other end started shooting, and now the ones on the sides, the spooks who had been silently encircling the crowd, started firing also, revealing themselves.

I presume that their job of encircling wasn’t complete. I presume the larger crowd that had been on our side, or even perhaps casual bystanders, then joined in.

I presume, because from where I was standing what I saw and felt was a push in the back, a roar of a multitude behind me. The people who’d been blocking access to the palace were down, bleeding, injured or dead. There was hand-to-hand combat to the far left of me, but that didn’t matter.

The way ahead was clear, and I could go and rescue Simon, and then I could let him solve the rest of the problems, and I was done.

I leapt over a decapitated man on the ground, my burner in hand, and headed to the door to the palace, an inarticulate scream coming out of my throat.

And the crowd followed me.

 

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 57

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 57

Ted stopped so suddenly that John and Leota bumped into each other as they attempted to avoid running into Ted. “You have had a run in with Dr. Gribbleflotz?” Ted’s voice was stilted.

John nodded. “Unfortunately. We were in Jena hoping to find out about affordable ways of making headphones for the new crystal radios. When I saw the flyer, I wondered if the lightning crystal might not be a piezoelectric crystal, because if it was, that might be a solution to our problem. Anyway, as I said. Derrick cut loose a belly laugh and we were all but thrown out before I could ask any questions.”

About then they made their way into the study. Tracy was crouched over a computer, working. She kept working until Ted spoke. “Tracy, a couple of people to see you.”

Tracy jumped. “Huh? What?” She turned away from the computer. “Oh. Hi, Leota, John. Did you want to speak to me?”

“Yes, Tracy. John was wondering if you know anything about a Dr. Gribbleflotz and his Amazing Lightning Crystal?” Leota asked.

Tracy looked at John. “What is it you want to know, John?”

“Well. We were in Jena when we heard about him and his Amazing Lightning Crystal. I was wondering what he was using. We need something like his piezoelectric crystal if we want to spread the radio service. Without a cheap piezoelectric crystal, we won’t be able to make affordable radios for the masses.”

“Why didn’t you ask Dr. Gribbleflotz?” Tracy was a little confused.

“Err.” John paused and turned to look to his wife for support.

“What John is trying to say is; they tried to speak to Dr. Gribbleflotz and screwed up. They were just about thrown out of his house. He’s hoping you, Kubiak Country Industries, might know something about the crystals, and if you could get us some.”

“Oh, Leota. John. I hope you didn’t upset him.” Tracy looked toward John. “John, just how did you ‘screw up?'”

“Derrick Mason was looking over something the doctor called his lightning generator . . .”

“The Wimshurst generator,” Tracy muttered, identifying the offending article.

“The what? Oh, yes, a Wimshurst generator. I remember using one years ago. Anyway, Derrick was looking at it when suddenly he started laughing. Dr. Gribbleflotz took offense and had us shown out.” John held up his hand halting the obvious question, “Derrick says he was laughing at the titles on the records being used as the static generating discs.”

Tracy looked over at Ted. “Do you have anything to say?”

Ted shrugged his shoulders, a guilty grin on his face. “Do you know which one he laughed at? There was ‘That Old Black Magic’ by Spike Jones and his City Slickers, and ‘Stormy Weather’ by Carmen Cavallaro. I’m quite proud of the Spike Jones one. Given how Spike liked to use expedient materials as instruments. Somewhere, we should have a recording where he used a selection of carefully tuned revolvers. And for a static generator, I thought ‘Stormy Weather’ was a good pick. But I wouldn’t think Dr. Gribbleflotz would take offense at a harmless joke like that.”

Leota sighed. “If only that was all. Apparently Derrick made a few innocent comments about how he had done things just like all of Dr. Gribbleflotz’s demonstrations while he was at school. John and Ken took Father Gus with them to help translate. He thinks the guy understands more English than he lets on. Anyway, Dr. Gribbleflotz took offense, and that was that. Which reminds me, why do you call him Doctor? My understanding is that he doesn’t have a doctorate.”

Ted and Tracy grinned at each other. “Oh, he has a doctorate all right. Not from one of the best institutions, of course.” Tracy gave her husband a harmless slap when he started to laugh and turned to give Leota a “what can you do with the man” look.

“But Dr. Rolfinck was absolutely sure that Dr. Gribbleflotz wasn’t entitled to the title,” John said.

A smile lit Ted’s eyes. “If this Dr. Rolfinck is so sure Dr. Gribbleflotz is not entitled to be called Doctor, why doesn’t he do something about it?”

“Because Dr. Gribbleflotz can apparently afford a good lawyer . . . Oh.” Wide eyed, John turn to stare at Ted and Tracy. “‘Not one of the best institutions?’ You don’t mean a diploma mill? An honest to goodness Mail Order Diploma?”

Straight faced, Tracy spoke, “Dr. Gribbleflotz is a prima facie Doctor of Medicine. I’ve seen the diploma. It’s real sheepskin, with a fancy embossed wax seal.”

“Wow.” John shook his head and slumped into a nearby seat. “Are you sure? The scholars at Jena could contest the diploma. Will it stand up in court?”

“Our lawyers have the utmost confidence in the stature of the issuing institution.”

John licked his dry lips. “I’ll take your word for it. But that doesn’t help me. What will help is getting some of the doctor’s lightning crystals. Do you know what it is?”

Ted and Tracy exchanged a glance. Ted gave a slight nod of his head. Tracy turned back to John and Leota. “Rochelle salt.”

“Oh,” A light started to dawn for Leota. “Gribbleflotz Vin Sal Aer Fixus,” she pronounced. Seeing the question in her husband’s eyes, she elaborated. “Dr. Gribbleflotz is making baking powder. Baking soda and cream of tartar are needed for baking powder. You can also make Rochelle salts from the same ingredients.”

John tried to suppress his excitement. “Is this right? Your Dr. Gribbleflotz is making Rochelle salts?”

“Gribbleflotz Amazing Lightning Crystals, please.” Ted held up his hand to silence John. “Just a moment. I have something you should see.” Ted turned to the door and called. “Richelle, could you bring in one of the Gribble Zippos please?”

Ted grinned at John. “This you have to see.”

A teenage schoolgirl with a baby in her arms walked into the study and passed a small object over to Ted. She passed curious eyes over the guests. Then, she gave a gentle wave before leaving. “That was Richelle, our adopted daughter,” Ted said. “Anyway, John, have a look at this lighter.”

John took the lighter in his hands. It was shaped like an oversized up-time Zippo. He opened it and looked at the mechanism. Instead of a flick wheel, there was a simple lever. John pushed the lever. There was a spark and the wick lit.

John looked from the lit lighter to Ted and Tracy, then back at the lighter. He gave it a closer examination. “A piezoelectric lighter? You’re making piezoelectric lighters?” At Ted’s nod, John smiled. “Do you have a supply of Rochelle . . .” Seeing Ted’s reaction, John hastily changed what he was saying, “a supply of Gribbleflotz Amazing Lightning Crystal?”

Ted nodded. John let out a long sigh of relief. “I don’t suppose you could sell me a pound or so?”

“Sure. Not all at once, though. But if you can afford to wait, I have a few ounces to spare, and I can ask Dr. Gribbleflotz to make some more. There’ll be a price though.”

“Hell, at the moment I’m prepared to pay just about anything. How much?”

“I wasn’t thinking about money, John. Dr. Gribbleflotz is doing quite well as it is. The few dollars for a few ounces of his Amazing Lightning Crystal is neither here nor there. What he will really want is something money can’t buy.”

Jena, an Inn

Dr. Werner Rolfinck was quietly seething. Beside him, Doctors Conrad “Kunz” Herbers and Wilhelm “Willi” Hofacker were keeping their mouths shut and a careful eye on their boss, because there, in pride of place in one of the best inns in Jena, the man Werner insisted was a charlatan was describing his philosophies to an enthralled audience.

“This up-time ‘chemic,'” Dr. Gribbleflotz was saying, “is fine for technicians, cooks, and industrial processes. It certainly allows unlettered peasants to tend my caldrons and alembics and produce their powders and potions, but it completely ignores the spiritual component of alchemy.” Phillip looked over his attentive audience. “Did you know that the up-timers produced Sal Vin Betula pills which were white?” At his audience’s collective shaking of heads, Phillip nodded. “Yes, it is true. White. For a pill that is supposed to reduce pain and reduce fever. When every competent alchemist knows it should be blue, because blue is a soothing and cooling color that reduces pain and fever. They are such children in the Great Art. As my Great Grandfather Paracelsus — whose namesake I am — said: it isn’t enough to treat the body, one must treat the spirit. Which is why my amazing headache pills are superior to what the up-timers have, for my Sal Vin Betula pills are pale blue. Yes, Dr. Gribbleflotz’s Little Blue Pill is your friend.”

Phillip paused for breath. He looked up, made eye contact with Doctors Rolfinck, Herbers, and Hofacker. He raised a hand in silent greeting before continuing his discourse.

“The nerve of the man. Did you see that? He waved to us as if we were his colleagues,” muttered Werner. “We are going to have to do something about the man. His conceit is beyond words. We have to do something about him.”

Willi shook his head. “Our hands are tied, Werner. The radio people passed on the news that Dr. Gribbleflotz holds a doctorate from an institution of some stature. It’s best we ignore him.”

While Werner drank to drown his sorrows, and Willi and Kunz drank to keep him company, on the other side of the common room Phillip continued to talk to his audience. He was getting into his stride talking about the topic dearest to him. Dr. Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz.

“Of course there are some up-timers that have a clue. I have been pursuing references in their library’s collection about pyramids, and crystal power. While much of it is obviously in conflict with well-established systems, some of their points are most amazing.” Phillip removed his spectacles and drew a special up-time cleaning cloth from a pocket in his up-time style jacket. He exhaled onto the lenses and wiped them. After he slid the spectacles on, he smiled at his audience. “I am particularly interested in the combination of gems with the new metal, aluminum. My careful calculations, corroborated by a most interesting tome in the Grantville Public Library, suggests that a pyramid composed of aluminum members with the appropriate colors and cuts of gems at the strategic points, especially these new faceted gems Herr Roth is producing, could result in the invigoration of the Quinta Essentia of the Human Humors. I am most anxious to pursue it. But as always, funding is problematic. Perhaps the new Aeolian Crystals will assist in it.”

Phillip looked over his audience again. He had them in the palm of his hand. Tonight’s crowd would be happy to go home and spread the words of Dr. Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz, the World’s Greatest Alchemist.

“You have heard of the Gribbleflotz Aeolian Crystals I am supplying the up-time radio technicians?” It was a rhetorical question. Aeolian Crystals were too new for any of the audience to have heard of them yet. “They allow the conversion of the Essences of Lightning the technicians have captured in their singing wires to be converted into sensible sounds. The crystals themselves sing. The up-timers insist on referring to them as “Rochelle salts,” but I can assure you that they have no parallel in Rochelle, or any other part of France. No, the singing Aeolian Crystals are a purely German product of German alchemy and up-time technology.” Dr. Gribbleflotz paused dramatically. “We are calling the ‘earphones’ Gribbleflotz’ Aeolian Transformers. They are much better than those simplistic mechanical earphones produced by the jewelers’ guild. Wire and bits of Iron! Ha! Cold Iron can never compete for the spirits of Sound with Salts of Sound Itself!!”

 

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 56

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 56

Chapter 10

Dr. Phil’s Aeolian Transformers

March 1632, Jena

It had been a hard day of almost wasted discussions with the scholars at the university. John Grover and Ken Butcher, accompanied by Derrick Mason, a young radio operator on loan from the army, had been trying to identify the materials and skills available down-time for the manufacture of earphones for crystal radios. They had hoped that it would be an easy matter to find people capable of making the wire-wound headsets at a sufficiently low price that affordable crystal radios could be made, allowing anybody to listen in to the broadcasts of the Voice of America. As things stood, there were about ten thousand up-time radios that could receive the signal. However, they were expensive. What was needed was a crystal radio set that anybody could make or buy extremely cheaply. That way, the Voice of America radio broadcasts would be able to reach everybody, not just those who could afford an up-time radio and a power supply.

Father Gus, who had been pressed into service as an interpreter, sat with the Americans while they continued to discuss the problems surrounding cheap earphones with a couple of members of the Jena faculty. Listening in, interpreting as needed, Father Gus considered the problems. They needed to wind thin copper wire around “magnetic” iron to somehow convert their “electric signals” into sound. The concept sounded extremely interesting, if such a thing was really possible.

That had been part of the problem. The Americans had come into Jena with a certain reputation for outlandish ideas and inventions. People, however disbelieving, had been prepared to listen. However, sound from the air? If it hadn’t been for the two-way radios they had brought with them, nobody would have believed them. Even with the two-way radios as proof, many were still unconvinced that they could be made.

****

“Hello, Dear. Have you been having fun?” asked John Grover’s wife, Leota.

Father Gus had to smile. John’s wife, Leota, Ken’s wife, Sarah, and Ken’s sister-in-law, Esther Sloan, presented quite a sight with all their bundles and baskets. They were settling down and displaying their booty from a lightning raid on the unsuspecting shops of Jena.

“You’ll never guess what I managed to get,” Esther said. She pointed to a heavily laden basket. “It’s almost impossible to get in Grantville. But here in Jena, I managed to pick up a whole ten pounds of Gribbleflotz Vin Sal Aer Fixus, and the price was less than in Grantville.”

“That’s marvelous, Esther. Can I buy some off you?” asked her sister, Sarah.

“There’s still some left in the shop. Most of this lot is destined for the school cafeteria. We’ve been forced to feed the students sourdough bread, but with the Gribbleflotz Vin Sal Aer Fixus, we can do biscuits again. The students have almost been up in arms having to go without biscuits.”

A rustle of paper drew all eyes to Leota and the flyer she was spreading out on the table. “What’s that, Leota?” Esther struggled to read the upside-down flyer.

Leota looked up at Esther, then placed the flyer down where her husband could read it. “When you mentioned the name Gribbleflotz, I suddenly remembered this. It’s a flyer advertising seminars on the ‘Philosophy of the Essence of Lightning,’ which are being given in the private salon of a Dr. Gribbleflotz. Apparently, the man gives demonstrations of ‘The Wondrous Lightning Generator,’ ‘The Amazing Lightning Crystals,’ ‘Storing the Essence of Lightning,’ and ‘Continuous Lightning.’ It sounds a lot like the kind of things the early scientists used to do. John, maybe you can drop by and see what the man has. It could be interesting.”

Father Gus had been translating as best he could for Dr. Werner Rolfinck and Dr. Willi Hofacker of the University of Jena. When he mentioned Dr. Gribbleflotz though, both men started to go red. Frau Grover had barely finished speaking when Dr. Rolfinck exploded. Father Gus struggled to keep up as the invective flowed from the good doctor.

“Dr. Rolfinck says that this Dr. Gribbleflotz is little better than a charlatan. These philosophical seminars are little more than cheap demonstrations of lesser technology with an unscholarly commentary pretending to explain what is being shown.”

There was a pause while Father Gus listened to a quick discussion between Dr. Rolfinck and Dr. Hofacker. “Apparently, this Dr. Gribbleflotz has no true credentials. He has failed miserably in the university courses on iatrochemistry. The man claims to be related to the Great Paracelsus, father of modern medicine. But the doctors doubt it. He is totally lacking in scholarly skills. He was little better than a self-employed laborant until he started making cooking powders for the American women. That was about his level, they claim. Though, I do wonder why the invective. I wonder what they have against the doctor?”

Sarah wrinkled her forehead. “Yes. If they don’t think he has credentials, why are they even letting him call himself ‘Doctor?’ I thought that was a protected title?”

Father Gus smiled at Sarah before turning to talk to the doctors. Moments later he had an answer. “They say they dare not challenge him on his doctorate. Apparently, he is doing quite well with his little ‘blue balls of happiness,’ his Gribbleflotz Sal Vin Betula. With the money from that he has retained the services of Herr Hardegg of Hardegg, Selfisch, and Krapp, a Rudolstadt legal firm with a certain reputation. The good doctors are not rich men. They cannot afford to defend an action of slander.”

Dr. Rolfinck had been trying to calm down while Father Gus translated for the Americans. But when Father Gus mentioned Sal Vin Betula, he again exploded. Father Gus tried to calm Dr. Rolfinck.

After a moment, Father Gus explained. “The dean is a little upset at the unscholarly name Dr. Gribbleflotz has given his little blue pills.”

Jena, outside Herr Doctor Gribbleflotz’s Private Salon, later that same day

“Well. That was a complete screw up. What did you have to go and laugh at his ‘Wondrous Lightning Generator’ for anyway, Derrick?” John Grover asked.

Derrick Mason smiled apologetically “It wasn’t the generator I was laughing at, Mr. Grover. Whoever made it used a couple of old 78s for the rotating discs. I was just laughing at their choice of titles.”

“Well, it was pretty unfortunate timing. He’d just demonstrated his Amazing Lightning Crystal. It was a piezoelectric crystal. I’m not sure what type, but apparently he grew it himself. I was at the point of asking him about making some more for us when you cracked up.” John looked at Derrick. “He was not impressed when you started laughing.” John turned to Father Gus. “Father, what do you think?”

“Herr Grover, I am very much afraid the good doctor took deep offense. I cannot be sure, but the way he immediately called upon his housekeeper to have us shown out . . . I think he may have felt your man was laughing at his lightning generator.” Father Gus gave Derrick a penetrating look. “Also, I believe Herr Doctor Gribbleflotz’s English may be a little better than he lets on. I noticed he paid attention when Herr Mason commented on how all of his experiments were really simple. I think he was ready to take offense.”

Father Gus turned to John Grover and Ken Butcher. “I do hope you do not need the good doctor’s services. I do not think Herr Doctor Gribbleflotz will forgive easily.”

****

“John, how did your visit to the electricity man go?”

John sighed. “A bit of a mixed bag, Leota. Dr. Gribbleflotz has an interesting range of electrical toys, and his amazing lightning crystal is a piezoelectric crystal. I was talking to him about sourcing some of the crystals when the comedian here,” he waved at Derrick, “decided to laugh at the good doctor’s lightning generator. From the manner in which we were invited to leave, I don’t think the doctor is going to be too enthusiastic about helping us.”

“What do you want the crystals for, John?” asked Esther.

It was Ken Butcher who responded. “If they’re piezoelectric crystals and he can make more, well . . . depending on the price, we might have an answer to our headset problem. Rather than use wire coils, we can use fine piezoelectric crystals. John and I are trying to remember recipes for piezoelectric crystals, but we’re coming up blank. If this Dr. Gribbleflotz can make them, then, based on the opinion of Doctors Rolfinck and Hofacker, I reckon we should be able to make them as well. I sure would like to know what he’s making and where he heard about them, though.”

Esther grinned. “Where is easy. He probably heard about them from one of the Kubiak Country people.”

“The who?”

“The Kubiak Country people. Look, here.” Esther passed over a bag of Gribbleflotz Vin Sal Aer Fixus and pointed to the printing on the package. “See. It says ‘Made by HDG Enterprizes (Jena), a branch of Kubiak’s Country Industries (Grantville).’ The address is up Mahan Run, which isn’t surprising if the Kubiak clan is behind it. Anyway, if you talk to one of the Kubiaks up on the Run, I’m sure you’ll find someone who can help you.”

Head Office, Grantville Canvas and Outdoor, Mahan Run, Grantville

John Grover turned to his wife. “Are you sure this is the right place?” He was sitting on his horse, outside the front gate of Ted and Tracy Kubiak’s home.

Leota nodded. “Yes, dear, this is the right place. Careful how you cross the cattle guard now.”

With a sour “teach your grandmother to suck eggs” look, John carefully guided his horse over the cattle guard and waited for Leota. They could hear the yipping of a dog while they rode up the drive to the house, so they tightened their reins and halted their horses until the source of the noise came into view. It was a small dog — a Jack Russell terrier. Before it could get under the horses’ feet there was a loud whistle. The dog stopped in its tracks. Shortly afterwards, a man walked up, bent down and lifted the excited animal up to his chest.

“Hi, John, Leota. Can I help you?” Ted Kubiak waved a greeting while struggling to keep a firm hold on his dog.

“My wife and I are looking for the Head Office of Kubiak Country Industries. We were directed here. I was just wondering if we’ve come to the right place.”

Ted smiled up at the mounted couple. “Yep. You’ve come to the right place. Tracy’s working up in the house. If you’d like to tie your horses to the corral by the shed, I’ll lead you to her.”

Ted waited while John and Leota loosened the cinches and tied their mounts to the corral. When they finished tending to their horses he released Ratter, who immediately ran up to John and Leota. The dog sniffed around them for a moment, then turned and trotted off. When John and Leota joined him, Ted asked, “So, what’s your poison? Gribbleflotz Vin Sal Aer Fixus, Sal Aer Fixus, or Sal Vin Betula?”

John stared at Ted, a grin appearing, “None of the above. I was wondering if you know anything about Dr. Gribbleflotz’s Amazing Lightning Crystals, though. We were in Jena and Leota here picked up a flyer advertising seminars on the ‘Philosophy of the Essence of Lightning.’ So me, Ken Butcher and a couple of other guys went visiting. I was just watching him demonstrate his lightning crystal when Derrick Mason, one of the other guys, started laughing around the doctor’s lightning generator. Before we knew what was happening we were out the door.”

 

Through Fire – Snippet 41

Through Fire – Snippet 41

The Gleaners

The next three hours were the most bewildering I ever lived through. I was trying to process who I was and what I meant, in this particular context.

Look, for years, ever since I’d known myself, I’d been the fastest, the smartest, the strongest in any gathering you’d care to mention. As such, I’d been responsible for all the others, the weaker and more vulnerable people. It had been my job to keep them from getting hurt and, sometimes, from hurting themselves.

But now I was with two people, one of whom was at least my equal, and the other who didn’t seem much different. And we were going to houses in the dark, houses that I couldn’t find my way to on my own, trying to get the inhabitants to come with us.

We didn’t separate. I didn’t know what to think about that. Surely we could have gone to more houses, faster, if we’d gone individually. On the other hand, we’d have been more unprotected. Did we do right? To this day I don’t know. One thing was sure. I couldn’t go alone. We took backyard paths, and side streets. We climbed over walls and zig-zagged along garden walks. We cut across woods and parks.

I’d lost all sense of where I might be, even though one of the things engineered into me was a sense of direction. Oh, I could have told you where the Palace was, or what remained of it, at any given time. But I didn’t know where we were going, or where the individual houses were in the grand scheme of the seacity, so my sense of direction was useless and my sense of vision was not much better than normal people’s in the dark. Fine, it was better, but not as good as Len’s had been. So the night, dark and filled with acrid smoke of many fires, became sort of a dream landscape.

I stumbled along, and sometimes Mailys or Corin would reach back and pull me, or one of them would put a finger to lips indicating silence.

The first three houses we went to were gutted and empty. Whether the inhabitants had escaped or been burned inside was something none of us could answer. We moved on.

In the fourth house, we found a couple. They recognized Mailys who spoke hurriedly to them.

After much discussion, on the beach, while walking to the next house, slogging through fine dry sand, Corin said, “We should send the children and old people to sanctuary.”

“Sanctuary?” I said.

“It’s a place,” Corin said, “Brisbois it had prepared for… the for the Good Man if he should need to escape. Most people don’t know of it, but I can take the first one there and charge him with opening doors.”

“What if we let a traitor in?” Mailys asked.

Once more I had the impression that while they were both children compared to me, and while she was probably around Corin’s age, she’d lived a more difficult life, or perhaps one that involved greater vigilance. After all, enhanced or not, he’d had parents and had lived with them. She was one of the… what had LaForce called them? Motherless ones. I too was motherless, I realized, even if a part of me protested at this and said that my foster parents had done the best they could, that they’d tried to protect me, keep me safe, teach me to be human. But it wasn’t quite true. They’d taught me to protect humans, which meant I wasn’t one.

“Then we’ll have armed people we trust, ones who won’t let them out.”

Mailys sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to risk it.”

I felt very alone, as we stumbled to the next house and the next. The first had all able-bodied adults who chose to come with us. The second had two elders, who were not, no matter how enhanced, willing to risk their lives in a melee. Corin left with them, after arranging with Mailys to meet at some other house, and Mailys and I trudged on.

As our group grew, we sent some ahead to wait at the plaza in front of the Palace with instructions not to be noticed and not to cause any trouble until we were there and they knew it was time to strike. Again and again we told them the time to strike would be obvious.

We gave them no details in case we might be betrayed.

And we walked to the next house. After a while it became obvious we were not only not taking the longest, most winding route but the least likely one, going to houses further on and backtracking to houses closer to us, winding and unwinding across the seacity, in a dark broken only by the light from occasional fires.

“Of course,” Mailys said, when I told her. “We’re also avoiding all the places where we’ll come across possible hostiles.”

My sense of direction reestablished, I realized we were going to homes of all social classes, in all sorts of places, from highest — both in money and placement — to lowest, in the area from which Brisbois and I had taken off. I wondered why enhanced people would be living in the almost-slum conditions in some of the places.

Once, in the glow of a fire, it seemed to me I saw Brisbois walking with someone who, from his body type, looked a lot like Simon. If Simon were dead, I’d think they were both ghosts. As it was, I just looked away and we went deeper into the trees of a little wooded area, then up a lawn-smooth slope, and then, finally, to the door of a cottage next to a big house. The people there — husband, wife, and children — were all well and terrified. Corin joined us then and gave the wife instructions on where to take her children, while the father chose to come with us to the plaza. Along the way, Corin had taken word of where to go to some people with children whom we’d left behind.

It seemed to me we’d been walking for hours when Mailys said it was time to start winding towards the plaza. I don’t know how many houses we’d alerted. It wasn’t enough and it certainly wasn’t everyone. So we had sent others on to continue looking.

My feet hurt and my legs felt like they’d fall off as we climbed through a circuitous route, the path to plaza in front of Simon’s palace.

 

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 41

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 41

Chapter 20

Zhao leaned forward and poured more tea into Lim’s cup, followed by his own. The last few drops fell slowly from the spout of the dragon pot into his cup. “Last of the pot,” he said with a smile. “We must savor it.”

Cradling his cup in both hands, Zhao looked at Lim. “Tully said you want to learn to fight. Can you explain?”

Lim went still, holding her own cup before her and looking down into it. The tea seemed to be an ebon fluid as it sat within the black enameled iron cup, and she caught a glimpse of her own face reflected within the dark mirror.

“I . . . The Ekhat have driven us and harried us for so long. We have lost so much. We . . .” she looked up at Zhao, to see him sitting very still, “we Lleix are not a warrior people. We have no elian like the jinau, or your human armies. I told Tully, I no longer wish to be helpless.”

“Ah,” Zhao said, a small smile crossing his face. “That is a worthwhile goal. And it is one in which I may be of some small help.”

He drained the last of the tea from his cup, and set it down on its leaf saucer with a click. “To begin with, we must ask and answer the question, ‘Who is Lim?'”

Lim followed suit in drinking her tea and setting her empty cup down. Her hands moved to rearrange the folds of her robe, without thought or volition on her part, almost as if they were separate discrete beings. “I am Lim, of the Lleix,” she replied after a long moment of silence.

Zhao shook his head gently. “No, that is your source, what you are out of. It is not who you are.”

“I am Lim of Terralore elian,” she tried again.

“That is what you do, not who you are.” Zhao’s voice was calm and soft.

A very long moment passed with no sound but the whisper of her fingers adjusting the brocade of her robes. At length, she forced them to still and looked back at Zhao. “I am Lim of the dochaya.” She felt empty as she said that, expecting him to accept it and refuse her.

“That is what shaped you,” Zhao said. “And from what Tully has told me, it was a hard shaping, one that wounded and scarred you.” He stopped for a moment, and Lim felt the depths of the wounds and the strictures of the scars as she had not since right after she had been rejected at the Festival of Choosing years ago. She looked down, not surprised to see her fingers grasping her robes, crumpling the fabric. It took another effort to force them to relax and smooth out the brocade.

“But . . .”

Lim’s head jerked up as Zhao continued.

“. . . that is still not who you are.”

Lim tilted her head as she studied the faintly smiling human, who sat across the table from her, motionless with his hands resting lightly on his thighs. She considered him; then tilted her head the other direction as she considered his responses to her statements.

“I . . .” she hesitated, “am Lim.” She said nothing more.

After a moment, Zhao’s smile grew broader, and somehow brighter as his eyes narrowed and the skin crinkled at the outside corners. “Precisely so,” he said. “Exactly so. You are Lim. You are a person of worth. That is the foundation of your life, and upon that foundation we lay the first stone–you are now my student.”

****

“Electromagnetic signals detected.”

Flue Vaughan’s head snapped up at that announcement from the human sensor tech, and he hit five separate control pads on his workstation with two motions of his hands.

Terra-Captain Uldra faced the tech. “Artificial or natural?”

“Very regular,” the tech responded. “Analysis indicates data content. Artificial.”

Vaughan hit more controls.

“Source?”

“Out-system.” The tech tapped controls of her own. “Weak signals that aren’t aligned with any significant bodies in the system. Not much out that direction except gravel and dust until you hit the system’s edge.”

Terra-Captain Uldra looked to Vaughan, who touched another control on his workstation.

“What is it?” he heard growled into his earpiece a few seconds later.

“Sorry to disturb your rest cycle, Fleet Commander,” Flue said, “but I think you’d best come to the bridge.”

“Why?”

“Signals.”

There was a click in his earpiece. Vaughan looked back to where Uldra was still looking at him. “She’s on her way.”

Uldra nodded, and returned her focus to the tech.

****

Third-Mordent felt Ninth-Minor-Sustained’s forehand blade slice across the tegument of her left foreleg as she spun away in panic from the harmony master’s attack. She leapt to her right, trying to get far enough away that she could turn and resume her defense.

“Stop.” Ninth-Minor-Sustained’s voice fluted down an arpeggio, cold as steel that had been in space in the shadow of a planet.

Third-Mordent froze in place. That had been the first lesson that her ancestress had taught her. It had been painful to learn, but learn it she had. When Ninth-Minor-Sustained said halt, she meant it.

Third-Mordent waited in position, trembling with both fear and bloodlust, as Ninth-Minor-Sustained walked softly around her to face her, looking her eye to eye. “You do not anticipate well,” the harmony master intoned. “You should have blocked that last cut, as well as the two before it. Your jump was ill-advised at best, and most likely would have resulted in your death if you had faced an opponent of any skill and experience. You will study the files I send you tonight, and we will begin again tomorrow.”

The harmony master turned and walked away down the performance hall, leaving Third-Mordent still frozen. As she neared a door, she looked back and sang, “Release.”

Third-Mordent almost fell when the tension released from her limbs. She straightened slowly, folding her forehand blades away and raising her manipulators. They trembled a little; her mind was trembling, as well.

The door opened at Ninth-Minor-Sustained’s approach. There was a squeal as she made a sudden lunge through the doorway, then the door closed again as she turned back with an Anj servient in her manipulators. The creature squirmed in the harmony master’s grasp, its piping squeals echoing from the walls of the hall.

“Control,” Ninth-Minor-Sustained whisper-sang, “begins with control of yourself. Do not move.”

Third-Mordent froze again. The harmony master walked up to where she stood, holding the Anj right before her. The squeals of the servient were beginning to affect her; her vision began to narrow.

Ninth-Minor-Sustained exposed the edge of one forehand blade, and barely kissed the Anj with it. Dark blood began to ooze from the resulting slice, and the servient’s cries grew louder.

The harmony master took one manipulator, dipped the tip of one of the dactyls in the servient’s blood, and then dabbed it around one of Third-Mordent’s olfactory sensors. The scent of the fresh blood impelled Third-Mordent toward predator mode; vision further narrowing, manipulators dropping and forehand blades rising.

Ninth-Minor-Sustained’s manipulators twisted suddenly and snapped the spine of the Anj. The servient shrilled in agony, then subsided to moans as the harmony master dropped it to the floor in front of Third-Mordent.

She lost sight of the harmony master’s great form as she focused in on the wounded servient, dragging itself across the floor, leaving a dark smear of blood behind it. Low chirps and moans accompanied its struggles, further inciting the young Ekhat to go into predator mode.

“Control,” Ninth-Minor-Sustained sounded a whisper-aria behind her. “Do. Not. Move.”

Third-Mordent managed, somehow, to continue her freeze. Inside her skull, her predator senses raged, seeking to leap onto the Anj and rend it into gobbets. Something, though . . . something kept her still. Some facility of her mind, dimly awakened as yet, still exerted iron constraint over her and locked her body down. Nothing twitched. No shivers or trembles. Nothing.

Ninth-Minor-Sustained gave a whisper of satisfaction.

The moans of the Anj began to shape a motif in Third-Mordent’s mind. A chaconne, it would be, she thought. The blood on the floor took on a luster to match the music beginning to form in her thoughts.

****

Zhao Jiguang picked up a cup of tea and sipped on it as he contemplated the medical images.

“Hmm. More proof that God has a sense of humor. Ball and socket joints for the shoulders and hips I understand, but for the elbows and knees? Wow.” He set the cup down and grasped his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Well, at least she’ll be flexible.”

“Hmm. Center of mass is lower than on a human. Female thing? Human similarity?” Zhao flipped over to another file and compared two images side by side. “No, same propensity in the males. Hip structure is massive. Wonder if they developed on a heavy-gravity world?” He made a note. “Ground and center will be affected.”

Zhao flipped back to the first image file. “Okay, flat feet. Very flat. Wonder if they can move up on their toes at all?” He made more notes.

After a few more minutes of study and thinking, Zhao was raising the tea cup to his mouth again when he flipped to the circulatory system mapping, at which point he blew tea all over the workstation’s view screen.

Zhao didn’t curse as he wiped off the workstation surfaces. That was not due to lack of incentive, but rather to lack of sufficiently inspired invective. Two hearts? Two parallel circulatory systems? How was chi supposed to flow through a system like that?

It was about that moment that Zhao realized the depth of the challenge he had accepted when he agreed to teach Tai Chi to Lim. It was also about that moment when he decided that Gabe Tully, while not precisely evil, perhaps had more than a bit too much yin in his system, and apparently not enough yang. He would have to meditate on how that was possible, given that Tully was otherwise the poster child for yang-ness.

He turned back to Lim’s med file, and continued his research.

****

Caitlin was roused from a dream featuring her husband by a com pad tone. It took a few moments to come to full consciousness–she really didn’t want to leave even a dream about Ed. She finally opened her eyes. “What?”

“Sorry to disturb you, Director,” came the voice of Lieutenant Vaughan. “Fleet Commander Dannet requests your presence on the bridge. We’ve got signals, ma’am.”

“On my way!”

She threw the covers back and bounced out of the bed. Two steps into the bath cabinet, where she shucked off her sleep suit, used the toilet and grabbed a cleaning towelette to wipe face and body in place of the shower she really wanted. She stepped back into the other room, pulled on fresh clothes from the drawers under her bed, ran her fingers through her hair, and grabbed her com pad as she headed toward the door. It irised open just before her nose hit it.

“Bridge,” she said to the bodyguards who snapped to as she plunged past them. She heard them following as she trotted down the corridor towards a lift.

****

The lift door opened. Caitlin strode out onto the command deck, followed by her bodyguards, and headed for where Fleet Commander Dannet stood with Uldra. Behind her, the lift door hissed again as it irised open. She looked behind her, and saw Wrot enter and follow in her steps. A moment later, the four of them were standing together.

“Talk to me,” Caitlin said. “What have we got? Intelligent signals?”

“Yes, Director,” the fleet commander replied. “Signals with structure, at any rate. The assumption is intelligence-generated.”

“Can we . . . no,” Caitlin corrected herself, “of course we can’t read them yet.”

The lift door hissed yet again. Dannet nodded toward the Lleix who entered the command deck. “They will begin the effort to decipher and translate. But we need not understand the content to locate the source.”

Chulan and Helot headed for the sensor techs. Pyr and Garhet split off and stood near the command group. Caitlin nodded to them, and returned her attention to Dannet.

“So, do we know where they are coming from yet?”

Dannet’s frame assumed the angles of awaiting-assured-information. “Several of the flotilla ships are spreading out now. It will take some time, but we should be able to establish sufficient parallax to be able to determine the source star.”

 

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 40

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 40

“I have family in Nanjing,” Zhao said, “who sent me quite a bit of premium Oolong tea just before I shipped out.” He smiled. “For some reason, many of the Chinese and Japanese among the jinau wish to be my friends.”

Zhao took a sip of the tea, then returned his cup to its saucer. Lim did likewise, finding the flavor of the tea matching the excellence of its scent. She set it cup down, unfortunately not as gently as Zhao had. It made a noticeable “clunk” as it encountered the saucer. She tilted her head and looked at Zhao, her aureole rising.

He smiled again. “Cast iron,” he said. “All of it; pot, cups, saucers. Japanese make, but very nice. I inherited them from my mother when she died.”

“Is this part of the tea ceremony, then?” Lim asked aureole now extended fully.

“No, not part of the ritual.” Zhao shook his head. “I’m actually not very good at the ceremony,” he said with a note of chagrin. “My mother used to tell me I wasn’t patient enough. I did not bring the utensils with me. But,” a gleaming smile appeared, “when we return to Earth, I will invite you to our home and my sister will welcome you with the full ceremony.”

They drank their tea slowly and quietly. When Lim had emptied her cup, she held it up at eye-level to examine the creature molded into the side of it. “Dragon?” She looked at Zhao. He nodded with another smile, and lifted the pot to refill their cups.

****

Aille followed Yaut into the workspace of Lieutenant General Ed Kralik. His flotilla’s jump to Ares system had been uneventful. He suspected the next few moments might provide sufficient storminess to balance that out.

“Governor,” Kralik said from where he stood before his desk. “I was surprised to hear that you had traveled all the way out here.”

“Ed Kralik,” Aille replied. “One is of use wherever one is needed.”

“So what use is the governor of Terra going to be put to in Ares Base?”

The general sounded a little skeptical, Aille thought. That was probably to be expected; Kralik had a lot of experience with Jao. “Business of Terra taif,” he responded.

Kralik’s eyes narrowed. “The only business the taif has out here is Ares Base or . . . Caitlin!” The human clasped his hands behind his back. “If it was something to do with the base, I’d have already heard about it. So what is it about Caitlin that has you abandoning your post and jumping to the middle of nowhere? Are you demoting her?”

Aille’s angles slipped into calmness-in-turbulence in the face of Kralik’s human version of pure unalloyed stubbornness that even a Jao could recognize. “No,” he said. “She will retain oudh.”

Kralik’s human face took on an expression that could only be called a glower. Aille was one of the best Jao around at reading human postures, but that one wasn’t hard to understand.

“Have you seen something? Is she–the fleet–in danger?”

Aille shrugged, using the human gesture to attempt to calm the general. “No, nothing is foreseen.”

“Then you’d better have your navigators talk to the Starsifters here.” Kralik’s mouth quirked. “That first step into the long dark is a doozy, from the word the fleet sent back.”

That led to a short discussion as to what a ‘doozy’ was, followed by a short discussion about the nature of the ‘doozy’ in this context, which in turn led to Yaut stepping to one side to send orders via his com pad.

Kralik looked back to Aille. “You still haven’t told me why you are personally leading this trip.”

“Ronz believes that Caitlin might find my presence of benefit,” Aille said. “And the ships I bring, of course.”

Kralik’s face went to an expression that could have passed for neutral. He said nothing for a long moment, then licked his lips and said, “The Preceptor ordered this?”

“Preceptor Ronz suggested that I could be of great use if I joined Caitlin in the search for allies,” Aille responded.

“And you’re not just joining her, are you? You’re taking reinforcements to her.” The glower returned to Kralik’s face as he crossed his arms across his chest. “So he suspects something, doesn’t he?”

“I have told you what he told me,” Aille said.

Yaut returned to Aille’s side, which drew Kralik’s eye. Aille knew that the fraghta, despite his years of association with humans, was still somewhat more brusque and fond of wrem-fa methods than was perhaps of maximum use in dealing with them. He turned and looked at Yaut, the tilt of his head and the angle of his ears giving what Caitlin might have called a shorthand version of my-responsibility. Yaut’s whiskers twitched back and forth in irritation, but he said nothing.

Aille returned his attention to the human. Kralik was staring him in the eye, which, tall though he was for a Terran, still required him to look up at the governor.

“I’m going with you,” Kralik said, once he realized he had Aille’s focus again.

“You will stay at Ares Base,” Aille said. “You are not required for this.”

Kralik’s face paled. “I really don’t care if I am required,” he bit the words out. “You’ve sent my wife in harm’s way, such that you’re giving her the strongest combat fleet in this region of our alliance. The Bond is sending you to join her. I will not sit here on my butt and wait for God knows what.”

Aille tilted his head. He said nothing, waiting on the human to conclude.

Kralik’s nostrils flared. He turned to his desk and took from its stand the bau that Aille had awarded him for exemplary service early in their relationship. The carvings on that rod of shell began with the siege and destruction of Salem during the last days of the governorship of Oppuk, but they had been added to and augmented in the years since then. The service it denoted would have made any Jao proud.

“You gave me this,” the human said, looking to where his hands almost cradled the bau. “You took me into your service, and you gave me this. I’ve taken your orders, I’ve done your work, I’ve been ‘of service’ wherever you sent me, including sitting here at Ares Base when Caitlin was out jumping from star to star not knowing what she was going to find.”

Kralik looked back up and locked eyes with Aille again. “And now you are going to join her, crossing the void to the Sagittarius Arm, going where no Jao or human has gone before, and Ronz is concerned enough about it to send you to join her. Caitlin is out there,” he pointed above his head with the bau, “Wrot is out there, Tully is out there, and now you, and Yaut, and even Rafe Aguilera for God’s sake, are going out to join her. Whatever it is that has Ronz so concerned ought to ‘require’ that you have your A team with you. All the rest of your service will be out there with you, and you’re going to leave me behind? I don’t think so.”

The bau lowered and Kralik said quietly, “You need your service with you, and I’m part of that service. I have military and jinau expertise that no one else in that fleet has. Whatever the Bond thinks you’re going to encounter, you need me.” He held the bau up between them, in front of Aille’s eyes. “You still don’t understand humans as well as you think you do. If you leave me here, you will have told the universe that you don’t value or trust me. You will have broken everything this represents between us.”

Aille reached out and took the bau from Kralik. The human released it readily. Aille turned it over and over in his hands, feeling the carvings with his fingers.

Kralik argued well, Aille decided. It was true that he was expert; far more so than Gabe Tully. That alone was perhaps not sufficient to bring him. But his other point was also valid, and perhaps was even the stronger one in this era of Jao/human relations.

Aille handed the bau back to the human and felt the flow of time sense. “You have until we finish on-loading supplies to give your orders. If you are not on board when we seal the hatches, you will be left behind.”

He turned without another word and headed for the door, Yaut preceding him. As the door closed behind him he heard Kralik speak to a com pad, “Get me Mrat krinnu ava Terra.”

“Impudent human,” Yaut muttered as they walked down the hall, angles stiff with offended-sensibilities.

“What would you have done in his place, Yaut?” Aille asked.

The fraghta snorted. “I would have ordered myself aboard your ship, and made sure that you didn’t see or hear of me until after the ship jumped.

“No so very different, then,” Aille murmured.

Yaut said nothing as he continued to stalk ahead of him.

 

Through Fire – Snippet 40

Through Fire – Snippet 40

“Oh, yes, that. That’s on most channels, yes, but there are others, though perhaps you need to know how to tune the com to get the frequencies from outside Liberte. Particularly the ones from Olympus.”

I raised my eyebrows at him, in silent questioning.

“The armies of the Good Men are moving into position,” he said. “Strategically. Around the isle.”

For a moment, I felt Simon’s arm around my waist, and heard his voice telling me those were just for show. “Simon,” I said, my mouth dry, and then corrected. “The Good Man said that those were for show, that they were likely empty, that if they hadn’t been empty they’d already have attacked, that–”

“Ah, that,” Jonathan LaForce said. “That for sure. It was all a show of force without actual force. The Good Men were committing as many of their forces as they could to the fight with the Usaians of Olympus and its territories. They had nothing left for a true show of force at us. But the situation has changed. To take Liberte while we were governed and unified, while the defense troops were in place; while the Good Men’s secret service operated, they were going to need a lot of men.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “Now? While we’re fighting and killing each other? Some people, after these last two days, after what Madame has done, would rather kill other people of Liberte and side with the armies of the Good Men. Whatever they were before, now the Good Men promise stability and an end to killing. And I don’t know what to do about it.” He looked up and his dark eyes met mine. “I had hoped Brisbois was with you, or that you knew where he was. He’s a cunning fox, Brisbois, and he could get us through this, even now. But Brisbois–”

“Is probably dead,” Mailys said. “Or he’d have surfaced by now.”

“Yes, that is what I believe too,” he said. “Which means we need to find a way to organize the scattered remnants for defense.”

“We should free the Good Man,” I said. I saw doubt cross LaForce’s face, and I said, “Look, you might think whatever you want to of him. I know you think he was a fool for not listening to Brisbois and not realizing that Madame had undermined his authority, but he’s not stupid, and he knows this Seacity and his people.”

He made a face. “Yes, but… He’s not as cunning as he thinks. He was captured.”

“That’s because he was trying to save me. I interfered with his ability to save himself,” I said.

He pursed his lips. “All right. Perhaps. Women can do that to men. But all the same, I’m not sure…”

“She’s right about one thing, at least,” Mailys said. “The Good Man is the only person, other than Brisbois, who knows most of the people on that list, and who probably has caches of information unknown even to Madame. If nothing else, it would allow us to gather the others, to defend ourselves and those like us.”

“The Good Man is imprisoned,” Corin said. “I presume in the palace dungeons, if those still exist. You know what they call that prison. The Stronghold. Those people it swallows, it never disgorges again.”

LaForce was quiet a long time. Then he put his finger to his lips, motioning us to be silent. He stood and walked down the hallway once again, and then looked through the back window at the dark backyard. He came back. “There are no sounds out there, but I think there are. I mean, I think there are people up front. At the back, I’d bet there aren’t.”

“I could go listen and look,” Mailys whispered. “I have better senses than–”

“My senses are enhanced enough,” LaForce said. “The question is, Madame Sienna here is suggesting that we get the Good Man out of prison to find the list with the rest of us. This might work or not. The Good Man…” He hesitated and gave me the sort of look people give you when they’re afraid you’re going to be offended. “The Good Man is, of course, very capable, but he’s not the most… responsible of beings. It seems to me he always cared more for himself than the people or even the land in Liberte.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mailys said. “Sometimes I felt it was all an act. Brisbois thought it was an act at any rate. That’s why he was loyal to the man. Loyal to the death.”

I started to open my mouth to tell them of Brisbois meeting someone in the dark, then reconsidered. Really, what did I know? I had a feeling I couldn’t judge Brisbois at all, a feeling like something moved beneath my feet, like solid ground giving way. And then I was sure I heard a sound, from the front. I jumped up and reached for the burner.

“Yes,” LaForce said, acknowledging my reaction. He swept a burner into his pocket, and then took the kitten from Tieri’s grasping hands, and slipped him into his jacket pocket, closing the clasp on top of the little creature. “He’ll be quite safe, Tieri. And I’m going to take to you to my wife.” Then he spoke very quickly. “Look, I have just enough contacts and just enough reach that I will whip up a crowd in front of the palace, and we’ll get them to attack the prison.”

“But–” Corin said. “The prison is impregnable.”

“The prison was impregnable,” LaForce said. “When we guarded it. It’s also booby trapped, but I know where those are and can disable them. I might be the last person alive and free who knows those codes, in fact. I will make it easier for us to get in. Yes, there will be guards. Some of them will be like Madame and Brisbois. But, my dears,” he spoke very quickly. “If we overwhelm them with force, they can’t stop us. Even supermen can’t stop a mob. There aren’t enough of them. And in this confusion, there will be enough people I can reach who have relatives in the prison and who want them out.”

“But most of those–”

“Conspired against the Good Man? At this point what difference does that make?” LaForce asked. “Most of them are chronic cases, who oppose all authority figures, and who will be as much against Madame as they were against St. Cyr. Any who were loyal followers of Madame will already be out.”

“So, you’re going to gather a crowd?” Mailys said. “And us?”

“If you can, without giving yourself away, go to as many of the houses of our people as you know, and try to get them out safely. Let us hope it’s not too late. I will take Tieri to a safe place. Bring as many of our people as you can to the plaza at…” He looked at the clock. “Midnight?”

“Three hours?” Mailys said. “Will that be enough?”

“No amount of time will be enough,” he said. “We must make of it what we can.”

The sounds out front were now obviously footsteps and whispers. Perhaps not obvious to anyone with non-enhanced hearing, but I could discern them clearly enough. Jonathan LaForce grabbed a dark blanket from the com room sofa and wrapped Tieri in it so she was an indistinct package, which he threw over one shoulder. He opened the back door. He’d somehow managed to get his burner in his free hand and he stood very still, listening. Mailys killed the lights in the kitchen, but even dark against the dark, I saw LaForce move, quickly, with that cat-like movement of his.

An explosion sounded up front. Someone said, “Merde.”

And we were running out the door, around the graves dug in the backyard. Rather than use the gate, which was locked, we scrambled over the wall at one corner emerging in a packed dirt alleyway that smelled of lilac.

We’d slept the day away and evening had fallen, with deeper blue shadows in the edge of the wall. We moved along the wall, away from the gate. It seemed to me there were human silhouettes by the gate, men who had been waiting for us.

Then, behind us, the house we’d just left exploded, in blues and yellows, in deafening sound, in a shower of debris.

Someone grabbed my hand and pulled and we ran along the wall, in the deeper portion of the shadows, our footsteps lost in the greater noise.