Eric Flint's Blog, page 207

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 55

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 55

Chapter 9

Dr. Phil’s Portrait

January 1632, Amsterdam

Dr. Nicolaes Tulp was just leaving the dissection theater when Caspar Barlaeus fell into step beside him.

“The dissection is going well,” Casper said.

Nicolaes shot Casper a speculative glance. “Spit it out, Casper. What is it you really want to talk about?”

“I hear the Guild commissioned a new group portrait to celebrate your appointment as the new praelector . . .”

Nicolaes snorted. “I was appointed Praelector Anatomiae nearly four years ago, and it is only now the Guild of Surgeons is getting round to commissioning a portrait, and they insist I pay for it.” He studied Casper. “But you already know that, don’t you, Casper.”

Casper nodded. “They’re given the commission to that new man, van Rijn.” He drew a folded paper from under his doublet. “These people are willing to share the cost of the painting.”

Nicolaes snatched the paper out of Casper’s hands and opened it. “Jacob Dircksz de Graeff and his nephew, Andries Bicker.” He released a short laugh. “Why am I not surprised that they want to be included? Wait a moment.” he looked up. “Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz? Isn’t that the same man you want to award a doctorate?”

Casper nodded. “It is only fitting that the first person to be awarded a doctorate by the University of Amsterdam be included in the painting.”

“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?” Nicolaes asked. “The charter hasn’t been granted yet.”

“Yet,” Casper said with emphasis. “Besides, paintings as large as van Rijn intends painting take time. The Athenaeum Illustre should be a full university and able to award doctorates before he finishes his masterpiece.”

“Masterpiece?” Nicolaes asked. “It’s just another group portrait for the guild hall.”

Casper smiled. “According to the information I have received, this painting will make van Rijn so famous he’ll still be remembered as a master painter three hundred and seventy years into the future.”

“You’ve been in contact with the people from the future?’ Nicolaes demanded. “Do you have . . .”

Casper held up his hands. “I haven’t personally had dealings with the people from the future, but I have spoken to someone who has.”

“Oh.” Nicolaes tried to hold back his disappointment.

“But,” Casper said, “awarding a doctorate to Mijnheer Gribbleflotz should help open doors.”

“Almost you convince me to go along with this fraud,” Nicolaes said, “but not even for direct access to the medical profession in the city from the future can I condone awarding a degree to someone who is not worthy of it.”

Casper nodded in an understanding and sympathetic way. “Of course, Nicolaes, and of course no one is expecting you to condone awarding a degree to someone who is not worthy.”

Nicolaes snorted with laughter. “I’ve had Bicker on my back to support doing so since the idea was first mooted.”

“Oh, I agree, Bicker is carrying on like an elephant in a glass store, but I have reason to believe Mijnheer Gribbleflotz is worthy. Did you know he was apprenticed to Professor Casseri and helped him perform a number of dissections?” Casper didn’t wait for a reaction to that little piece of information before continuing. “I also understand he helped Professor Bauhin, in Basel, perform a dissection on a pregnant woman.”

“What? On a woman?” Nicolaes shook his head in disbelief. “How is that possible?”

Casper shrugged. “I have no idea how he did it, but I am reliably informed that he did do it.”

“What do you call reliable?” Nicolaes asked, still not prepared to believe what he was hearing.

“One of our lecturers, Dr. Wilhelm Dorschner, has worked with Mijnheer Gribbleflotz, and he has seen the man’s personal journal account of the dissection.”

“I know Wilhelm. He’s a good surgeon.” Nicolaes nodded.

“He worked with Mijnheer Gribbleflotz in the service of von Mansfeld for over four years.”

“That doesn’t prove anything. There were plenty of incompetent butchers serving as military surgeons.”

“But was he incompetent?” Casper asked. “He’s the man who saved Major Jan Bicker’s leg.” He paused for effect before continuing. “The Major, then only a captain, suffered a compound fracture of the femur.”

Nicolaes whistled. “How’s that possible?” he asked. “That kind of injury is usually fatal. Yet I’ve seen Jan just this week, walking around the city with Catharina.” He shook his head in negation. “It can’t have been a fracture. Maybe he just broke it.”

“Don’t take my word for it,” Casper. “Talk to Major Bicker.”

Major Bicker’s house, Amsterdam

Jan Bicker stood up to greet Nicolaes as he was led into the morning room. “Dr. Tulp. How can I help you?” he ask

Nicolaes waved away the attentions of the maid and pulled an A4 ink-jet printout of a photograph of Phillip Gribbleflotz from the satchel the maid had been trying to take away. “Do you know this man?” he asked.

“That’s Dr. Gribbleflotz,” Catharina said. “That’s a very good painting. Where did you get it from?” she asked. “Look at the colors he’s wearing. I wonder where he got them.”

“You know this man?” Nicolaes asked.

“Of course,” Catharina said. “He operated on Jan. He saved my Jan’s life,” she said growing teary eyed. Suddenly she smiled. “Is he in town?”

“I’m afraid not.” Nicolaes tried to think of how to broach the subject of Jan’s leg. After a silence that was growing uncomfortably long, he blurted out the question that had been bothering him. “I’ve heard he treated you for a compound fracture of the femur.”

Jan smiled. “That’s right. The other surgeons wanted to amputate, but Dr. Gribbleflotz said he knew a way of possibly saving my leg if I was willing to take a risk.”

“Did he tell you how big a risk you were taking?” Nicolaes demanded. “A compound fracture of the femur is usually fatal, even after amputation.” A gasp from Catharina had Nicolaes cursing his loose tongue. He smiled reassuringly at Catharina. “But it seems Jan was one of the lucky ones.”

Catharina turned to Jan. “And we rewarded him by giving him that cursed lump of crystal.”

“Cursed crystal?” Nicolaes asked.

Catharina pointed an accusing finger at her husband. “He stole it from a Jew, who cursed him for robbing him. We had nothing but bad luck for years, until we gave it to Dr. Gribbleflotz as a token of thanks for saving Jan.” She looked from Jan to Nicolaes before returning to look at her husband. “He saved your life, and that’s how we thanked him,” she muttered bitterly.

“We didn’t have much left to give him, Catharina, and he took it gratefully,” Jan said.

“Because he didn’t know it was cursed,” Catharina said.

As a man married recently for the second time, Nicolaes knew better than to get involved in a marital spat, however, this one he felt he could settle amicably. He coughed loudly enough to attract Jan and Catharina’s attention. “I think that you broke the curse when you freely gave the crystal to Dr. Gribbleflotz.”

“How can you say that?” Catharina demanded.

Nicolaes held up the picture of Phillip again. “Because this is the image of the man who wishes to be included in the group portrait the Guild of Surgeon has commissioned to celebrate my appointment as the Praelector Anatomiae.”

“And that sort of thing doesn’t come cheap,” Jan said, a look of relief on his face.

Catharina looked at the picture of Phillip again. “Surely a man wearing such colors has to be lucky,” she said.

“So, Dr. Tulp. You didn’t say how I could help you,” Jan said.

‘You have helped me,” Nicolaes said. “I just wanted to confirm the pictures I’ve been provided are of the right man.” he smiled. “It wouldn’t do for the artist to paint the wrong person, would it?” that elicited a smile from Jan and Catharina. “Thank you for your time,” Nicolas said.

“Will we be able to see the finished painting?” Catharina asked.

Nicolaes shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid not, Mevrouw Bicker. It will be hung in the Guild hall. Now, I’m sorry, but I must take my leave.”

Nicolaes was escorted to the door by Jan and Catharina, and he couldn’t help but notice that Jan walked with no sign of a limp. He really needed to ask Wilhelm if he knew how Gribbleflotz had done it.

Caspar Barlaeus’s office

Nicolaes pushed his way into Casper’s office after a perfunctory knock. “Okay,” he announced. I will support your awarding a doctorate to Mijnheer Gribbleflotz.”

“Good, good, and am I to take it that you also have no objection to him appearing in the portrait Mijnheer van Rijn will be paining?”

Nicolaes waved his hand at Casper. “You’ve won. There’s no need to rub it in. I’ll support the awarding of a doctorate to Mijnheer Gribbleflotz if the Stadtholder approves the university.”

Van Rijn’s studio

Casper stood in van Rijn’s studio and couldn’t help but stare at the size of the portrait the artist was working on. “Are you sure your canvas is big enough, Rembrandt?” he asked.

“It has to be this big to contain the self-importance of all the subjects,” Rembrandt said.

Casper grinned. “Dr. Gribbleflotz will not be able to sit for his portrait.”

The charcoal in Rembrandt’s hand snapped. “How am I to paint a man when I don’t know what he looks like?” he demanded.

Casper pulled a folder of A4 papers from his satchel and handed it over to the artist. “I was given these.”

Rembrandt snatched the folder of color photographs from Casper. “Such colors, and so realistic.” He looked up at Casper. “How is it done?” he demanded.

Casper had to shrug his shoulders. “If you want to learn, you’ll have to visit the city from the future, but please, not until after you finish the painting.”

Rembrandt sighed and returned to his canvas, comparing the half-dozen color photographs of Phillip Gribbleflotz with his canvas. “I think I will put him here,” he said, making a lightning sketch of Phillip. “I do hope you won’t mind if I use the colors he has chosen for his clothes. It makes such a change from the normal black.”

“You’re the artist,” Casper said.

“Of course I am, and whose face would you like me to use on the cadaver?” Rembrandt asked.

Several inappropriate options flashed through Casper’s mind, but good sense prevailed. “Phillip of Spain?” he suggested.

Rembrandt stood back to look at his canvas. “Yes, I can do that.”

Grantville

Phillip stood in front of the mirror in his room and admired the way the lime green shirt played off the barely visible puce lining of his dark blue jack with the yellow lace collar. He slowly turned around, taking in the full magnificence of his outfit, properly set off by the tasteful orange-colored Western boots. A gentle tug at his sleeves ensured that a bit of the line green was visible below the cuffs of the jacket. Yes, perfect. With a smile on his face Phillip gave his lucky crystal a rub before he left his hotel room and went for a walk around Grantville.

 

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 39

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 39

Chapter 19

Ninth-Minor-Sustained spun to face Third-Mordent after they entered the room. Third-Mordent had no idea where they were, but her reflexes dropped her into predator mode in reaction to the harmony master’s sudden movement. The thought was still in her mind that, despite the harmony master’s approval of her motif, she still might exact a price from Third-Mordent for bringing word of what she had seen.

“Descant-at-the-Fourth was the longest surviving of my descendants,” Ninth-Minor-Sustained fluted. “Fourth generation removed.” She flicked open a forehand blade and carved a line in her own tegument.

Third-Mordent’s body had tensed and her vision had narrowed when the harmony master had opened the sheath of the forehand blade. The sight of the white ichor oozing from the gash Ninth-Minor-Sustained had opened sent a quiver through her body. Only the sight of the open forehand blade kept her from assaulting the harmony master.

They stood thus in a tableau for what seemed an endless period of time to Third-Mordent. Gradually she became aware that Ninth-Minor-Sustained was staring at her, steady gaze over the intervening forehand blade. It took great effort, great self-control, to put away the predator’s mind and ease the tension in her own pose, raise her manipulators, and return the harmony master’s gaze.

“I had hopes for Descant-at-the-Fourth and her line,” Ninth-Minor-Sustained dirged. “Was her system truly dissonant?”

“Six ships missing altogether,” Third-Mordent keened softly, “yet unusual traces in the solar corona indicated where they died. Seven ships dead in fragments dancing aimlessly around the star with the shattered corpse of Descant-at-the-Fourth’s world harvester. Nothing but ruin and broken rubble at the planetary post.” She stopped for a moment, then sang in descending quarter-tones, “All trace of the Melody in the system gone. Gone as if it had never been.”

Ninth-Minor-Sustained lowered her head, still staring at Third-Mordent. “Then she is gone, and all her surviving direct progeny.”

To that Third-Mordent could only assent.

The harmony master folded her forehand blade back into its sheath. She turned and walked over to face what Third-Mordent first assumed was a view screen displaying a field of stars. It was a moment before the younger Ekhat realized that it was really a transparent window. That surprised her, as very few Ekhat liked to be reminded of the near presence of the emptiness of space.

“You are of the line of Descant-at-the-Fourth.” The harmony master was not asking a question with that bit of melody.

“Yes,” Third-Mordent responded with a glissando.

“Not of the most direct line,” Ninth-Minor-Sustained intoned.

“Yet still of her progeny,” Third-Mordent responded in kind, “fifth generation removed in a collateral line.”

Ninth-Minor-Sustained stood silently, still, gazing out the window. Third-Mordent said nothing; she knew nothing to say that hadn’t been said. Whatever the harmony master’s purpose, it was opaque to the younger Ekhat, who was just now coming to grips with the thought that she herself was in the line of Ninth-Minor-Sustained. She had not known. Few Ekhat could trace their lineage very far back. Mortality among young Ekhat was very high, between the fratricide among their peers and the casual violence of their elders. The odds of one’s direct progenitors surviving long enough to communicate with sapient offspring were very low.

Yet Third-Mordent could now count her line back ten generations to no less than Ninth-Minor-Sustained, preeminent harmony master, one of the leaders of the Complete Harmony faction, wickedly adept at combat, survivor of the longest odds. Her mind could just barely begin to grapple with the implications of that knowledge.

All thoughts fled Third-Mordent’s mind as Ninth-Minor-Sustained spun and leapt on her, smashing her to the floor and pinning her under the harmony master’s great weight. One forehand blade hung poised before her eyes, and she felt the edge of the other kiss her throat ever so slightly.

Third-Mordent clamped down on her instincts, hard. She knew that even the slightest movement on her part would bring her death. The struggle she fought in her own mind was every bit as fierce as the struggle she would have attempted against the harmony master; every bit as desperate; every bit as ruthless. And almost as fruitless; but not quite.

Not. Quite.

Every muscle tensed, and her tegument rippled. But Third-Mordent, by the barest of margins, did not struggle. She could sense the great head of Ninth-Minor-Sustained lowering above her, mandibles and maw approaching the back of her neck. Her tegument rippled again, but still she did not move.

The exhaled breath of the harmony master touched the tegument just behind her head. It took the last bit of control Third-Mordent had to remain still.

“You cannot defeat me,” Ninth-Minor-Sustained . . . crooned. “You can never defeat me.”

Third-Mordent made no response; she focused on controlling herself. A long moment passed.

The forehand blade at her neck was removed so deftly Third-Mordent was not aware of its absence for long moments. She felt the pressure of the harmony master’s weight shift the barest of instances before massive pain in three different locations sheeted through her system, paralyzing her for what seemed almost eternity.

The pains faded; the one at the base of the skull lingered longest.

“Get up,” Ninth-Minor-Sustained fluted in a monotone. She said nothing else, but Third-Mordent understood what was not said, and struggled to her feet.

The younger Ekhat stood facing her very distant ancestor, manipulators raised as high as she could raise them in the lingering pain, forehand blades still sheathed but trembling.

“Control,” the harmony master uttered in a whisper of an aria. “You think you have it. You are wrong. But I will teach it to you.”

Third-Mordent shivered at the solid, austere harmony in Ninth-Minor-Sustained’s voice.

****

Lim stood before the door of Zhao Jiguang’s quarters, and raised her hand to the signal plate. The door opened just before her finger touched. Zhao stood before her, dressed much as he was the previous day in loose trousers and long loose tunic of a light gray color.

“Ah, Lim-san,” Zhao said in Mandarin. “Please come in.”

He gave a slight bow, which Lim returned before she stepped through the doorway. Zhao pointed to the small seating area in his quarters. “Please, choose a place to sit. I will return with the tea momentarily.”

Lim examined the three low chairs–barely more than stools–that were grouped around an equally low rectangular table. After a moment of observation, she chose a seat on one of the long sides of the table, facing another chair across the table, with the third chair to her left. She was still not certain why she had come. This human did not look to her to be as dangerous as Gabe Tully had insisted he was.

She refolded her robes, then locked her hands together in her lap and looked around the room. It was small, as most spaces were in the ship. Indeed, Lim’s own quarters was barely larger in total than the room in which she sat.

Her eye was caught by a low box lying on the table opposite the third chair at the open end of the table. It was black, perhaps five of the human centimeters high, and it contained fine white sand. The sand had been brushed into patterns by some sort of tool, and there were three small stones placed within the patterns; one smooth and shining black, one smooth and gleaming white, and one coarse and dull red.

She was still looking at the box when Zhao arrived with the tea. He set a black wooden tray before the third seat. On the tray was a black teapot, low and round, rough surfaced, with golden highlights limning the outlines of a long beast.

Flanking the teapot were two round handleless cups of a matching finish and pattern, each sitting upon saucers shaped like Terran leaves, with gold traces outlining the veins of the leaves.

Zhao lifted the teapot and poured steaming tea into each of the cups. Setting the teapot down, he placed a saucer and cup before Lim and the seat opposite her, when he then settled neatly into.

“It is good of you to come, Lim-san,” Zhao said with a slight forward bow, still speaking Mandarin.

“It was good of you to invite me, Master Zhao,” Lim replied in the same language.

Zhao cupped his hands before him, then spread them to the sides in a smooth gesture. “Please, call me Joe. I am not so pretentious as to require being addressed as ‘Master’, especially not by one of your people.”

Lim repeated the gesture. “Then call me Lim, for I am no master, either among my people or yours.”

Zhao smiled, bringing his hands together around the cup before him. “Then we are two friends of a common friend, Gabe Tully, who are met to become friends of each other over shared tea.” He lifted the cup and smelled of the vapor arising from it.

Lim followed suit. She found the cup surprisingly heavy for its size, but lifted it to sniff of it. “It smells excellent,” she exclaimed in surprise.

 

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 54

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 54

All eyes turned to the lawyer in response to what Casper could only consider a very good question.

“For reasons which I have not been made aware, there is a matter of urgency surrounding my esteemed colleagues’ client’s requirement to secure a doctorate from a reputable institution,” Johannes said. “My esteemed colleagues hope that you will consider awarding their client a doctorate based on relevant life experience.”

Casper snorted. “And what relevant life experience does this man,” he checked the name on one of the papers in front of him, “this Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz have that should cause us to award him a doctorate?” he asked.

“Phillip!” Wilhelm said in surprise before flicking through the pages to find the page Casper had read from.

“Do you know this man?” Casper asked, waving the page in question from his pile of papers in front of Wilhelm.

“If it’s the same man I knew,” Wilhelm said as he finally found the page in question, “then he was apprenticed to Professor Casseri in Padua for three years, and studied medical botany under Professor Alpini at the same time.”

“He studied at Padua?” Casper asked. “Then why does he need us to award him a doctorate?”

“Professor Casseri died before he was ready to sit the exams,” Wilhelm said, “and for reasons he never went into, he left Padua without a degree.”

Casper did some rapid calculations. “Professor Casseri died nearly sixteen years ago. What’s he been doing since then?” he asked.

“He served in the army of the counts of Nassau-Siegen as a physician and surgeon between 1618 and 1623,” Johannes said.

“That’s when I met him. We worked together most of that time,” Wilhelm said.

“And that is when he saved the leg and life of my niece’s son,” Jacob added.

Casper glanced at Jacob. That bit of information went some way towards answering the unasked question of why Jacob and Andries were willing to see Mijnheer Gribbleflotz awarded a doctorate. He checked the paper in front of him. “It says here that he worked with Professor Bauhin for two years while he was in Basel.” Casper looked at the lawyer. “Why didn’t he take the exams in Basel? With three years study under Professor Casseri and four years as a military physician and surgeon, he should have had little trouble passing the exams.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that question,” Johannes said. “However, is what is laid out before you a satisfactory collection of relevant life experiences?” he asked.

Casper was still hesitant. He trusted that Wilhelm had actually worked with the man, but why, he wondered, had Mijnheer Gribbleflotz, in all that time, not taken his medical exams at some institution. He glanced at Jacob and Andries, wondering what was in it for those two for them to be so willing to push for the Atheneaeum Illustre to become a university.

“Of course the Collegium Chirurgicum will also become a part of the new University of Amsterdam,” Jacob said into the silence that permeated the meeting room.

That, Casper was aware, was both a promise and a threat. If the Atheneaeum Illustre promised to award Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz a doctorate, then the medical school would be the senior department in the new university, and if they didn’t, the Collegium Chirurgicum would be given the option. He glared at Jacob. “We would like some time alone to discuss this,” he said.

Jacob nodded affably. “Of course you do.” But then he ruined it by adding, “but don’t take too long,” before leaving the meeting room with his nephew and the lawyer.

Early January 1632, Jena

“This is outrageous,” Professor Rolfinck said as he slammed the newspaper down on the table.

Willi, Kunz, and Zacharias all jumped at the noise the paper made. “What’s outrageous?” Willi asked.

“Haven’t you read the newspaper?” Werner demanded.

Willi pursed his lips and shook his head.

“Well look at it now,” Werner told him.

Willi unfolded the four page newspaper and skimmed through it from front to back. “What am I looking for?” he asked after his first pass.

“It’s on the front page,” Werner said. “That charlatan!”

“What’s Dr. Gribbleflotz done this time?’ Zacharias asked.

Werner turned to glare at Zacharias. “You call him doctor as if he’s entitled to the title,” he accused.

“I’ve seen no evidence to the contrary,” he answered.

“No evidence?” Werner demanded. “What about his claim that he can make gold?”

“Hearsay,” Zacharias said. “No one I’ve spoken to can verify that he ever made such a claim.”

“And his hemorrhoid ointment works,” Willi said.

Werner turned to glare at Willi. Meanwhile Kunz had been scrutinizing the newspaper. “It says that the Grantville papers are calling him the Aspirin King.” Kunz turned to Werner. “What’s aspirin?”

“It’s the name the Americans gave to a pill made from the power left when you evaporate willow bark tea,” Zacharias said.

Kunz continued reading. “Sales of Dr. Gribbleflotz’ little blue pills of happiness are rumored to exceed ten thousand a week, at ten dollars each.” He whistled and looked at his colleagues. “That’s a fortune.”

“For a pill that costs less than a dollar to make,” Werner said. “That proves he’s a swindler.”

“There’s a shortage of suitable willow bark, Werner,” Zacharias said. “I believe Dr. Gribbleflotz has had to buy his supplies from as far afield as Dresden.”

“That would certainly add to the price,” Willi said.

“But not enough to justify charging ten dollars a pill,” Werner said.

“A simple article in a newspaper doesn’t explain your anger, Werner. Why’re you so upset?” he asked. “What else has happened?”

“That happened,” Werner said, pointing at the newspaper. He looked up at Zacharias. “This morning I had a visit from Johann Selfisch, of the respected Rudolstadt law firm of Hardegg, Selfisch, and Krapp. He informed me that if I did not immediately cease and desist making defamatory comments about his client, he would be forced to bring an action against me.”

“I don’t see the connection,” Willi said.

“Don’t be silly, Willi,” Kunz said. “It’s obvious that with his income from the sale of Gribbleflotz Sal Vin Betula he can afford the best legal representation.”

“And that’s another thing,” Werner muttered. “The names he gives his products; Sal Aer Fixus, Vin Sal Aer Fixus, and now Sal Vin Betula. The man has no sense of what is right and wrong.”

“Well,” Zacharias said, “you’ll just have to be careful what you say about Dr. Gribbleflotz in future.”

Werner shook his head. “The threat of legal action is the sign of a worried and desperate man. As soon as I get responses to my letters to Padua and Basel I’ll have the proof I need that he has no right to call himself a doctor and I’ll be able to run him out of Jena no matter how many lawyers he employs.”

****

Phillip stood in front of the mirror and frowned. He turned to the left, then to the right. “No,” he sighed, “it doesn’t work.” He turned to the young laborant as he struggled out of the jacket. “I need the green shirt, Hans.”

Hans Saltzman dashed over to the open wardrobe and carefully removed the lime green linen shirt and hurried back to Phillip, who’d been distracted by a sight out the window.

While he changed his shirt Phillip watched the men unloading the barge from Grantville. Another load of urine for the American’s silly cooking powder, he thought. Still, it did pay for his fine clothes. He glanced at his image in the mirror. “That’s better,” he declared. The lime green of the shirt perfectly set off the puce lining of his dark blue, almost black, jacket. He turned to the waiting Hans. “Off you go. I’ll catch up with you in the laboratory.”

With his personal laborant gone Phillip returned to the window. Nine tenths of every barrel was little more than water, and it made no sense to pay to transport water when there was plenty of perfectly adequate water in the river. That money could be better spent elsewhere, such as on some new trousers to compliment the new boots he’d ordered. The problem, Phillip reminded himself, was that there was no one he trusted to turn urine into Spirits of Hartshorn without his supervision. He was going to have to pick someone out from his best laborants and train them especially. The question was who?

With the question of who to train bringing a frown to his face, Phillip left his room and headed for the laboratory.

 

Through Fire – Snippet 39

Through Fire – Snippet 39

He sighed and tapped his fingers on the table. “You see, you’re dealing with two Good Men and two very different sets of policies. The Good Man before the current Good Man didn’t trust anyone in his guard who wasn’t enhanced the same way he was. He was, you could say, the counterpart of Madame, who proclaims to all and sundry the wonders of natural humans, those who have not had their genes tampered with. He thought the only trustworthy people were those as enhanced as he was. Only he found that wasn’t precisely true. I’m not exactly sure what happened or when, but… but Brisbois and Madame turned on him. Perhaps he took Madame into his bed.” He shrugged and looked at my appalled expression. “I don’t know, understand. I’m just speculating. At the time I was just a very young man and training to be in the defense forces, not… not in the palace guard as such. I just know something must have happened, because Brisbois made an attempt against the Patrician and it came out he was working with the Sans Culottes and so was Madame and Jean Dechausse, perforce, and then–” He shrugged. “Their attempt against the Good Man failed and they were all imprisoned. The Good Man condemned them to death. And then–” He expelled air between his teeth in a long and expressive hiss. Most of what it expressed was his frustration, though I wasn’t sure with what. “And then someone made an attempt against the late Good Man. Some people say it was his son, and this is possible, but we don’t know for sure. What we know is that, whatever happened, it caused the Good Man to be brain damaged, unable to exercise his power of government and his son succeeded him. He then went into death row and saved Brisbois, making him head of his security force. But unlike the previous Good Man, Simon St. Cyr didn’t want …” He said a word I didn’t understand, clicked his tongue and said, “Men without a mother in his security force. He thought, and perhaps… well, he thought that those who had been created in a lab, gestated by a surrogate and brought up by foster parents who were hired to raise them, were not the most stable of people. I don’t intend to dispute it, though some people say none of us are very stable, and neither are most natural born people.

“At any rate, he picked enhanced but not as powerful as possible guards. And he set them to work under Brisbois. Mailys was, I think, the only one created like Brisbois in the force, and that was because she was considered Brisbois’ daughter. But the rest of us… the rest of us were just enhanced, not made. Still we were a fraternity of sorts. Each of us knew the others, and each of us knew we weren’t quite like other people, and that meant we trusted each other more.”

“So that was the list you were talking about,” I said. “Everyone in the guard.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” he said. “Everyone enhanced. All of the creations of Doctor More–” He looked at Corin. “Of Doctor Dufort. We all went to him for treatment when needed, because he had files and he knew about all of us, including the secrets of how we were made and exactly what each of us was capable of.” He opened his hands. “Even people like the Bonnaires, who were clerks in the Good Man’s administration.”

He stopped then, because Tieri had come from the playroom, cuddling the kitten. “I heard noises outside,” she said.

We traded a look, and Jonathan got up. He picked Tieri up and deposited her unceremoniously, kitten and all, on Corin’s lap, before he slid down the hallway. I didn’t care if I or Mailys were more enhanced than he was, Monsieur LaForce did a pretty good imitation of a cat who didn’t wish to be seen, moving down the hallway soundlessly, knitting with the shadows.

The rest of us were left sitting at the kitchen table. Corin, absently, petted the kitten, but even Tieri had ceased speaking. It was as though all of us were straining to hear some noise. I thought of how Corin had survived the attack on his parents’ house, and knew he would be listening for warnings that we were in for a second attack. And the rest of us? I didn’t know what Mailys had survived, or what attacks she’d experienced, but I knew that my life had taken too many unexpected turns lately for me to be sanguine in the face of a potential threat. So I watched and waited, listening for a sound of disaster: an explosion, the sound of a breaking window.

What we got instead was Monsieur LaForce coming back, cat-footed, and sliding back into his chair, sliding his burner on the table in front of him. The burner was good quality I noted, better than the burners Simon’s guards had carried. I could see the settings from narrow cutting to total burn. He had it on total burn, and he had the safety off. It seemed foolhardy near a child, but then I realized LaForce had his eye on the child and was watching her carefully. I stopped paying attention to the burner and looked at him. He shrugged. “It could be,” he said. “There could be someone scouting around the house. You see, Madame managed the attack on the palace,” he said. “And I think the main reason was to get the list I found in Brisbois’ files. I’m sure he had it locked, but doubtless, having been married to him, she knows him very well. At least, she had somehow unlocked it,” he shrugged. “And so I assume all of us are in danger, all of us have had assassins sent against us.”

“Because she hates modified people?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Because she knows we know she’s also one. After her appeal to the natural people, if such exist in any of the seacities, she can’t reveal herself to be more enhanced than any of them, can she?”

“Could we reveal her as such?” I asked.

“Corin, maybe, or Doctor Dufort,” he said. “No one else. Which is why she tried to eliminate the whole family. But still, you know, if it’s one or two of us saying it… but if it were a crowd, and there were files.”

“Yes, I see,” I said, and I sort of did, though the politics of a land this big and with these many people seemed bewildering at the best of times. Something he’d said bothered me. “Would you say, honestly, that the objective of raiding the palace was to get the list? Not to imprison the Good Man?”

He pursed his lips. “I suppose that is possible,” he said. “Though I suspect she never thought she could do it. I mean, the Good Man is not that easy to capture. None of them are. People have tried for centuries.”

It occurred to me with sudden clarity that while he knew Simon was made, a Mule and a clone of the last Good Man, he had no idea what made him different from the other Good Men. He didn’t know that for centuries the Good Men had their brains transplanted into the bodies of their putative sons. The previous Good Man, Simon’s father, had done that over the centuries. And he might have, with the experience of centuries, been a hardy survivor, difficult to kill. But Simon was my age and inexperienced in all these games.

I thought of him throwing me at Brisbois, telling Brisbois to get me out of there, to get me out of danger. I thought of Brisbois who had tried, as hard as he could, to take me to Olympus and keep me there and safe. Now, Simon, who had turned his last moments of freedom to taking care of me and not himself, was imprisoned, and Brisbois, who had tried so hard to keep me away from this madhouse, was probably dead. At least I didn’t see how anyone could survive what happened on the beach. And I was here, in the middle of the madhouse. And no one was going to save Simon but me. If I could figure out how to do it.

LaForce was still talking. “I think she was so surprised at capturing the Good Man that she doesn’t know what to do with him. But … I don’t know if you’ve looked at the com.”

“Only the… the… trials… or the…” I looked at the young girl, and searched for a word that she would not understand, and thought maybe, just maybe Jonathan LaForce knew enough history. “Madame la Guillotine.”

 

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 53

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 53

“I had to pass through Jena today, so I stopped by to see Dr. Gribbleflotz,” he explained.

“You sound awfully familiar with Dr. Gribbleflotz,” Tracy said.

“Didn’t your husband tell you that Dr. Gribbleflotz invited me to visit him?” Jonathan asked. With the high ground firmly in his possession he continued with the reason why he’d dropped by. “I’d heard a rumor that he didn’t have a doctorate, and well, the long and short of it is, I asked him, and he admitted that he didn’t.”

“He admitted to you that he doesn’t hold a doctorate?” Tracy demanded. “Why would he do that?”

Jonathan thought it better not to try and answer that question, so he hurried on. “And he said that the dean of medicine at the university was trying to get him run out of Jena.”

“Run out of Jena? But we’ve invested a fortune in him,” Tracy wailed.

“Yes, well, apparently all Dr. Gribbleflotz needs to stymie Professor Rolfinck is a duly awarded doctorate, and I was wondering if there mightn’t be an institution somewhere in Europe willing to award him a doctorate based on relevant life experience.”

Off to the side a loud choking sound came from Ted. “You mean a diploma mill?” he asked.

“Or something like that,” Jonathan said. “I mean, Dr. Gribbleflotz is earning you a fortune with his little blue pills. So surely you owe him something.” He shrugged. “What can it hurt to at least make inquiries?”

Next day

Jonathan stopped by his local pharmacy to ask about iodine for Dr. Gribbleflotz, and about using mercury to treat syphilis. He entered and walked up to the counter.

“Hi, Jonathan, how can we help you today?” Susan Little asked.

“I’ve just got a couple of questions. Firstly, can I buy iodine?” Jonathan asked.

Susan shrugged and called out to her colleague. “Hey, Bibi, Jonathan here wants to know if he can buy some iodine.”

“What do you want it for?” Bibi Blackwood called back.

“It’s for Dr. Gribbleflotz. He needs it for some experiments.”

The two pharmacy clerks exchanged looks. “I’ll ask Lasso,” Bibi said before disappearing out the back.”

“How do you know Dr. Gribbleflotz?” Susan asked.

“Ted Kubiak introduced me to him.”

Susan nodded knowingly. “You delivered a load of urine for them in one of the army’s trucks?”

Jonathan nodded. It wasn’t as if he had received any money for that trip. It had gone straight to the army.

“I understand you want to buy some iodine,” Lasso Trelli said as he entered the shop front.”

“I don’t actually want to buy it, Mr. Trelli. It’s for Dr. Gribbleflotz. I just want to know if you have any available for sale.”

“You’re in luck,” Lasso said, “the Sanitation Commission deemed a reliable supply of iodine sufficiently important to make getting it a matter of urgency. You can extract iodine from seaweed ash, and we recently received our first shipment from the Baltic, so we have a reasonable supply on hand.”

“Why’s it so important?” Jonathan asked.

“It’s important because it’s so useful. Iodine can be used to sanitize drinking water, and as an antiseptic. Also, your body needs iodine. Iodine deficiency can cause goiter and intellectual disability, and that can be prevented by adding iodine to the salt supply.” Lasso smiled. “Is that all you needed?” he asked.

“Yes. No.” Jonathan said.

Lasso grinned. “Make up your mind.”

“It’s about mercury. I was talking to Dr. Gribbleflotz, and I said how they didn’t allow it in schools back up-time because of how dangerous it is, and he insisted that it was safe, and that his great grandfather, the Great Paracelsus, used it to successfully treat syphilis.” He looked earnestly at Lasso. “Can it treat Syphilis? I always thought it was a dangerous poison.”

Lasso nodded. “That’s the modern view, but mercury has been used as a topical antiseptic for centuries. They only stopped distributing Mercurochrome in the US in October of 1998, and even then, that was done purely on the fears of potential mercury poisoning rather than because of any evidence. It was still available in Europe in 2000.”

“So Dr. Gribbleflotz was right, it is safe. Can be used to treat syphilis?”

Lasso sort of shook his head. “It’s mercury, so I’m not sure I’d go so far as to say it’s totally safe, but it could be applied to genital ulcers as a topical antiseptic. But I doubt it would be much use beyond the primary stage.”

“Thanks,” Jonathan said. “I’ll tell Mrs. Kubiak that Dr. Gribbleflotz wants some iodine and that you can provide it.”

Lasso snorted. “Tracy’ll probably place the order with Tino.” he shook his head ruefully.

Jonathan dropped his head. He’d forgotten about Mrs. Kubiak’s connection with Nobili’s Pharmacy. “I’m sorry, Mr. Trelli.”

“Don’t worry about it, Jonathan. We’re making enough off Dr. Gribbleflotz’ little blue pills of happiness that missing the sale of a little iodine won’t hurt us.”

“Thanks for the information,” Jonathan said as he left. He was going to have to apologize to Dr. Gribbleflotz for doubting him, he thought. Maybe he’d better check what the encyclopedias had to say about the medical uses of mercury.

December 1631, Amsterdam

Caspar Barlaeus sat at the table with the other members of the recently created Athenaeum Illustre. He looked around at his colleagues. “Can anyone tell me why this meeting has been called?”

His question was met with blank faces and shaking heads.

There was a perfunctory knock on the heavy wooden door before it was pulled open. Casper shot to his feet, all ready to protest, but then he recognized who were standing at the door — Jacob Dircksz de Graeff and his nephew Andries Bicker. Together the two men controlled the city’s politics. There was a third man, a colorless functionary of some sort. Judging by the quality of his clothing he was probably a lawyer, though why Jacob and Andries would turn up at a meeting of the faculty with a lawyer in tow he had no idea.

“Please be seated,” Jacob said, as if he was in charge. “I have wondrous news for the Atheneaeum Illustre.” He gestured for the lawyer, who walked around the table placing some papers before each person.

Casper glanced down, meaning to just have a glance, but the title on the top page caught his eye and he started reading in earnest. He only looked up after reading the first couple of paragraphs. When he did he saw his colleagues were equally shocked. “How can the Atheneaeum Illustre suddenly be turned into a university,” he demanded, “it’s only just been formed as school of higher learning.”

Jacob turned to his nephew and raised a brow, inviting him to answer the question.

“It’s not a done deed, yet,” Andries said, “but with my uncle and I supporting the petition, I am sure the city council will sign off on it and present it to the Stadtholder for confirmation.”

Casper could readily believe that these two men could force anything they wanted through the city council, but that didn’t explain why they would do it. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sure you and your uncle are capable of having the Atheneaeum Illustre suddenly turned into the University of Amsterdam, but why would you do it?” he demanded.

Andries gestured for the lawyer to speak.

“My esteemed colleagues in Jena have a client who wishes to have a doctorate awarded to a man in their employ,” Johannes Rutgers said.

Casper didn’t like the implications of that, but he had a ready solution that wouldn’t put the school in an invidious position. “Our charter doesn’t allow us to award degrees, let alone doctorates,” he said.

“Your current charter may not permit you to award degrees or doctorates,” Johannes corrected, “but the new charter, which would be in force if the Atheneaeum Illustre were to become the University of Amsterdam, would allow it.”

“You can’t just suddenly turn an advanced school into a university,” Casper protested.

Jacob Dircksz de Graeff just smiled. Casper understood what that smile meant. When you were as rich and powerful as he was, you could do just about anything you wanted.

One of the men at the table stood up. “Even if we were a university able to award degrees you can’t just walk in here and expect us to give a doctorate to someone to suit yourselves,” Wilhelm Dorschner protested. “It violates every principle one has as a teacher. Why can’t this client of your colleagues do the proper thing and pass the requisite exams?”

 

Castaway Odyssey – Chapter 23

He Who Writes (otherwise known as Ryk Spoor) has decreed that this will be the last snippet.

Castaway Odyssey – Chapter 23

Chapter 23.

“Whoa!”

Tavana lunged out reflexively, catching Maddox as he was almost dragged headlong into the water. The carbonan fishing pole was bent in a sharp curve, vibrating furiously even while Tavana managed to get the smaller Bird brother back on his feet.

“Got something, Tav, we got something!”

“Vraiment, that we do! Can you hold it?”

Maddox’ face was set in lines of determination. “If… you can… keep me from falling on my face…”

Tavana grinned, slid both arms around the younger boy just under Maddox’ arms, and braced himself. “That I can do!” He raised his voice a bit to activate his omni. “Xander! We have a bite, a big one!”

“You do? We’ll be right there!”

“Gimme a video feed, Tavana!” came the Sergeant’s voice. “If I can’t be there, I darn well want to watch!”

Whatever was on the other end of the carbonan-reinforced line was strong, Tavana had to give it that. Maddox’ muscles stood out on his arms like slender bundles of cord as he pulled back, trying to force his prize to turn towards him. No way he can keep doing this himself; the drag on that is set to a third of his own weight!

“Let me take it, Maddox,” he said.

“No!”

“You can’t hold it in one hand if it yanks like that again, and how are you going to reel it in without letting go at least for an instant?”

Maddox grunted as another powerful yank pulled him forward. “Okay, okay… you turn the reel? Hold me with one arm?”

“Works.” He didn’t want to deprive Maddox of this – the first catch on a new planet. Sure, he really would have liked to be the one to do it, but it hadn’t been his turn, it had been Maddox’s, and the smaller boy was hanging on grimly.

And none of us expected our first real hit on the line to be something this big!

He got hold of the reel, which had been made from the takeup reel of the coil-winder they’d cobbled together months ago, and started cranking back hard. The fish, or whatever it was, had suddenly turned towards them and the line was threatening to go slack.

Maddox immediately pulled up and tried to backpedal; Tavana did his best to go along with him. Gain as much on this thing as we can –

The rod whipped down again and the line screamed out at astonishing speed. Mon Dieu, it is strong!

Xander and Francisco appeared around the side of LS-88, the oldest boy wiping grease from his hands. “Holy crap, that thing must be a monster!”

“Be damned careful, boys,” the Sergeant admonished them from inside the lander. “Something that fights like that is almost guaranteed to be a predator of some kind – especially since we’re using meat scraps for bait. If that’s the local equivalent of a shark, it’ll be hell on wheels even when you beach it. Stay sharp, stay clear, and don’t get stupid; Xander, when and if you get a clear shot, take it. We’re not sport-fishing here, we’re doing survival. Got it?”

“Yes, sir, Sergeant,” Xander said. Out of the corner of his eye, Tavana saw him give a sideways smile. “Do you always order the Captain around?”

The Sergeant’s laugh was loud and cheerful. “Only when they’re young punks! But you’re right, Captain, I should be advising you.”

“And it’s good advice. Franky, get back. I want you up against the landing strut there. WOW!”

The creature had finally reached the surface, and breached spectacularly like an Earthly marlin, except no marlin ever had spiky, segmented armor or four rows of paired fins – or that edged, flowering nightmare of a mouth. “No joke, Sergeant, that’s a top predator for sure!”

Maddox actually swore. “That thing’s huge!”

“Big enough – I guess it at four, five meters, boys,” the Sergeant said, and his voice was now serious. “Might not be a top predator, but I’ll tell you, seeing that makes me damn nervous. Xander, you’ve done this before?”

“Yes, sir. That’s going to be a long fight, if this thing’s anything like Earth fish. Maddox, I’m sorry, but we’ll need to take turns.”

Sweat was trickling down Maddox; his hair was matted and he was breathing heavily. Tavana could feel his arms shaking. Reluctantly, Maddox nodded. “O… okay. Tav, you take it for a bit?”

“Right.” He reached out, clamped his left hand firmly on the rod just above Maddox’, then grabbed the bottom of the rod. “Got it.”

Maddox let go and ducked out, just as the monstrous fish-thing gave another mighty yank.

But Tavana had been braced, and he had no trouble keeping a grip on it. It felt like twenty kilos or so – quite a tug, but nothing outrageous, as the line streamed off the reel again. “I can do this for a while.”

“You’ll have to.” Xander sat down next to him; Maddox had flopped down onto the dirt, exhausted. “Unless these things tire a lot faster, we might be fighting that thing for hours.”

“Oui, I am aware. I only did a little fishing, but I remember some of the people saying how long it took to land the big ones. You know that Maddox and I, we will be landing it, yes?”

“I know – I’m the one who’s going to do the shooting.” Xander looked out at the water, where the thing was visible by the bulge it was making on the surface as it streaked away again. “Honestly? I’m really seriously thinking of cutting the line.”

Maddox sat bolt upright. “What? No! Why?”

Tavana had the same impulse as Maddox, but his brain caught up to Xander’s. “Maddox, your brother, he has a point. It will not be safe, landing this monster. We do not even know if it will be something edible.”

Xander nodded slowly. “Basically, yes. That’s what’s got you nervous, right, Sergeant?”

There was a moment of silence, then a grunt from Campbell. “Partly. More than that, though, but nothing to concern you right now.”

“So you think I should do it? Cut the line?” Xander was carefully looking away from his brother’s outraged face.

“Son, right now, you’re the Captain. You’re going to have to make that call.”

“I am asking the old laid-up soldier for advice, Sergeant.”

That got a chuckle, one that even Maddox joined in on. “Well, now, that’s fine. Advice? Well, honestly, I think we can argue it either way, assuming it doesn’t somehow get off the hook and make the argument moot. You’ve made the argument for cutting the line; I’ll make the other one. This is the first bite we’ve gotten. It’s going to be our first look at what lives in these waters, and something that big will have a lot to tell us – not just from itself, but from what it’s eaten lately, too. Edible or not, we might find it’s got other useful aspects – those armor plates might come in handy, for instance.

“And of course there’s no guarantee the next thing you hook will be any safer.” He paused. “Now, if you do bring it in, I want you all to remember what we’ve learned so far. That thing might be venomous, and that could be everything from its teeth to its fins to even its skin. So you boys get gloved up when it’s getting close, got me?”

“Got it, sir,” Tavana said, and the others echoed it. “Sergeant?”

“Go ahead, Tavana.”

“This cable, it is very thin, but it is carbonan, yes? So it should be extremely strong, strong enough to hold that thing’s complete weight.”

“I’d think so. Xander?”

“That’s TaylerCord 5K. The 5k is its rated strength, so it’s rated to five tons – five thousand kilograms. I don’t think that thing’s going to be even close to that, so… yes, easily.”

“So… we could just tie it to the landing strut and let it pull as hard as it wants, right?”

After a moment, the Sergeant chuckled. “Might could at that.”

“Won’t work, if it’s like most fish,” Xander said. “Give it enough slack, it’ll either find a way to pull the hook out, or it’ll get up a running pull that will either rip the hook straight out through its body, or peak at a high enough tension to snap even this line. I’ll bet on the ‘rip the hook out’, myself. But that’s why we have to keep fighting it this way; if it gets slack, it has a good chance of getting away.”

“Then the choice is up to you, Captain Xander.”

“I will do a properly Captain thing, then, and put off the decision until I see what shape we’re in when it’s getting close to time to land it.”

“Ha!”

Tavana turned his attention to the rod. The creature had once more paused in its struggles, so Tavana lifted the rod, then lowered it as he wound the line in, lifted again, lowered while winding, dragging the creature towards them slowly but surely.

And then without warning it leapt away again through the water, dragging the line whining with it.

All of them became familiar with that dragging, tiring, yet still fascinating routine, pitting their timing and smaller muscles braced on the ground against the determination and vast power of the creature from the depths of the lake. After the first hour, Tavana started to wonder if the thing was going to beat them, if it was simply able to endure beyond anything they could manage. He muttered something about that as he took the rod for the third time.

“Don’t you worry about that,” the Sergeant’s voice said. “Tavana, human beings ain’t the strongest animals on our planet, and we ain’t the fastest, and we ain’t the toughest in a fight, either, but there is one thing we’re just crazy-good at, and that’s keepin’ on keepin’ on. Persistence hunting, that’s our game. Sure, we can’t outpower that monster out there, but you can bet your last dollar that we can outlast him, if we don’t just plain give up.”

Tavana tried to keep those serenely certain words in mind as the battle went to two hours, then three, then four, and even Emerald’s sluggish sun was clearly crawling across the sky.

But then he suddenly realized that the creature’s runs were getting shorter and shorter, and it was clearly getting closer and closer to shore. “Xander, I think we are winning.”

Xander, who was eating some jerky that Francisco had brought from the lander, sat up straighter. “I think you’re right.”

The thing chose that moment to surge to the surface again, but even that powerful movement reinforced Tavana’s impression. Unlike that first mighty breach, this was a lunge that broke the surface but did not come close to clearing the water; barely a quarter of the armored fish-thing’s length emerged before it sank back beneath the surface. “He’s almost done, Sergeant!”

“Sure looks that way. Time for that decision, Captain.”

Xander stood still for long minutes, watching as Tavana dragged the thing closer to shore, now no more than ten meters away. Finally he nodded. “Let’s do this. Francisco, go get us the gloves. Boots back on, everyone. No chances, right?”

“Yes, Xander!” agreed Maddox.

“Understood,” Tavana said. Having seen that nightmarish mouth now several times, he had no desire at all to take any risks.

Tavana nodded to Maddox. “You’re going to take the pole at the end. You hooked it, you get to bring it in.”

The brilliant smile from the lighter-haired brother told Tavana he’d said the right thing. “Thank you, Tavana!”

“No problem. And I’ll stand right behind you just in case it pulls hard at the end.”

Xander stood to the side now, sidearm drawn. As Maddox and Tavana slowly dragged the monster closer, Tavana saw Xander release the safety. His finger was still well clear of the trigger, laid along the axis of the gun across, but not through, the trigger guard, and he held the muzzle of the gun pointed low and away from all of them. Francisco was hanging back as he had been instructed, and as the thing made one more lunge, showing two jaws filled with uncountable teeth, paired with ripping mandibles, the smallest of their crew shrank behind the landing strut. Good. Don’t want him even possibly in the way on this.

“Keep bringing him in. Closer… closer… Tav, can you and Maddox drag him a little this way? Yeah, it looks flatter there, I think we can get him beached easier… yeah, that’s it… Whoa, I think he knows something’s up, that was a hard run…”

Maddox pulled up, reeled in, pulled up, trusting to Tavana to keep him from falling. “Come… in… here, you stubborn little…”

“I would call it many things, but not little!”

Maddox growled a little, but focused his energy on pulling again. “Almost… there…”

At the last moment, the creature seemed to finally realize that it was the small animals up there, on the land, that were responsible for its torment. It swung about and charged towards the bank, throwing up twin bow waves in a startling rush of speed.

And then it came right up on the bank and started thrashing across the ground, straight for Tavana and Maddox.

Tavana didn’t think, he just acted, literally throwing Maddox over his head and behind him, and then running to the side, waving his arms and shouting, keeping the attention of the hissing monstrosity.

Gunshots cracked out, one after another in rapid succession. The creature spasmed, jackknifed around towards Xander, but then caught three shots in the face for its trouble. The controlled charge turned into a writhing dance of agony that made everyone scramble back, waiting until the convulsions died down and the gigantic body was still.

Finally there were only a few dying tremors rippling down the creature’s flanks. Tavana let himself sink down to the rough ground, shaking. “Merde, that was much more exciting than I was hoping for!”

“What did I tell you boys? Planets hold surprises. Back on earth there’s more than a few fish that could do that, though ain’t none of them nearly that big. On the other hand, orcas do that kind of thing sometimes, and they are that big, and bigger.” The Sergeant’s voice was also a little shaky. “Good shooting, good discipline there, Xander. And good reflexes, Tav. Everyone did good there. Just be careful approaching it.”

“I remember why you are lying inside, Sergeant,” Tavana said emphatically. “Believe me, a second lesson I do not need.”

“Heh. I suppose not. So keep an eye on the others for me.”

“That I can do.”

They warily approached it. Now that it was still and fully out of the water, Tavana’s omni could compute the exact dimensions: five point two meters long, and if the density was roughly that of water, massing something over a ton. “That is a monster.”

Xander nodded. “Sure is. Stand back, everyone.”

He put two more shots into the thing, but it only twitched sluggishly; there was no sign of the sudden, savage reanimation that had nearly cost the Sergeant his life. Xander let out a long sigh. “Looks like he’s dead dead.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s safe,” Campbell reminded them. “Approach with caution, and remember to be very careful touching anything.”

“Sergeant?” Tavana said, as they carefully closed in on the body. “Can you tell us now what the other thing was that was bothering you?”

“Sure,” he said, and his tone was grim enough to get Xander to pause. “Take a look out there. What do you see?”

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to see, but he knew better than to question Sergeant Campbell. “Umm… well, I see the lake. Ripples on the lake. Then the other side of the lake, some of those tree things –”

“Right. How far do you think it is to the other side of the lake?”

“That’s easy.” His retinals sent the image to his omni along with the query. “Six hundred and fifteen meters.”

“Little more than half a click. And it’s not much longer than that, if any. So tell me, how many fish or whatever do you think are in a lake that size, and how many does a monster like that need to eat every day?”

Light dawned. “You mean it shouldn’t be in here.”

“Damn straight. That means that it either somehow swam up that not-too-big stream running out of this lake, or there’s some other way in that we can’t see, because unless that lake’s about three kilometers deep there’s no way it’s big enough to support things that size. It’s like finding a great white shark in your local fishing pond.” He paused. “Honestly, Xander, I’m glad you made the call you did. That beast’s got a lot to tell us, and we need all the info we can get.

“Because I don’t think we’ve even started to find out the surprises Emerald’s hiding.”

 

Through Fire – Snippet 38

Through Fire – Snippet 38

“Shut up, you,” he said. “I’ve not. I don’t think all modified people are evil, though she certainly is. I was keeping an eye on her, that’s all. But the idea that the Mules who are now the Good Men, and who are superior to creatures on Earth, might want to take over, to — To reduce us to slave populations or worse, is not really that far-fetched. Throughout history, more fit populations have replaced less fit ones. The Mules are better able to survive than we are. If they could reproduce, they could overtake the Earth.”

“That is exactly the same reasoning Madame uses to say everyone who is enhanced in any way should be killed,” Mailys said.

“It is not at all–”

Jonathan LaForce and I traded a look that said, children, and he bellowed, “Quiet.” He looked back at me. He smiled a little. “So you’re not here on collective objectives. I’ll believe that. But why are you here, then?”

I shrugged. “To escape Eden where enough people knew or suspected, or would eventually find out, I was the clone of Jarl Ingemar. If you know of the man, you know the expectations that come with it. But I’m not Jarl. I’m Zen. All I want to do is live a small, private, quiet life.” I was silent about my suspicions as to why and how my brother, Kit, and I had been created, and also on how being Jarl’s clone had almost gotten Kit killed. Call me a coward. I wasn’t willing to be killed just because I was the female version of someone who’d died when I was too young to remember him, and with whom I’d never had more than the contact every one of my generation did: a man in a historical study, a hologram in historical recreations.

“And for this peaceful retreat you chose Liberte balancing on the edge of a revolution?” He grinned mirthlessly. “Well done indeed.”

“Alors,” Mailys said, softly. “She couldn’t have known we were on the verge of a revolution. We, ourselves, didn’t know it. We thought the Patrician could bring us in for a soft landing. He would have, too, if Madame hadn’t been undermining his influence with the Sans Culottes for years, and if he had the type of power he thought he had.”

LaForce snorted. “Brisbois told him of the danger. He told him several times.”

“Yes, but Brisbois has a gift for rubbing people the wrong way,” Corin said.

“Yourself included, I suspect.”

Corin laughed. “A few times. Though he respects Father, and I’m probably indebted to him for getting Mother and Father out of trouble and so…”

Something dropped at the back of my head and suddenly I knew, with absolute certainty what I was looking at. “You were all made by Doctor Dufort!” I said. “I mean.” I looked at Corin. “Of course, you are his son, but that’s not what I meant. He made you — enhanced you — in a lab.”

Corin hissed out air between his teeth and looked at me, as though shocked, “But of course, I told you. The locals call him Doctor Moreau.”

“Doctor…?”

“Oh, it was the jeering nickname for Doctor Dufort,” LaForce said, derisively. “Employed by Madame’s followers. After an old legend of a doctor who created monstrous creatures, half human, half animal. It’s not like that, of course, but yes. He created us and the Bonnaires and … and most of the Good Man’s servants. He or his father before him.”

“But,” I said, slowly. “Most of the servants of the Good Men are hereditary families. That means their children are natural, no? The parents might be enhanced but the children are naturally born, like Tieri.”

Mailys sighed, and Jonathan shook his head. “Yes and no,” he said. “That is, we all have parents, yes, but you see, when some of us were enhanced, even though it wasn’t as… as it was with … with Brisbois, we still were given characteristics that… that made us ideal for the Good Man’s service.”

“But you’re his son!” I protested looking at Corin.

“And expected to follow his legacy,” Corin said. “Yes. Like my father, and his father before him, I was expected to be a genius at my occupation, to be able to run the laboratory all on my own, to be able to keep up with all the new breakthroughs and to keep things going. And no, I’m not trained yet. Not significantly. But what father who can do it would refrain from making his son a little faster, a little smarter, and a little more able to resist illness? Mind you, ma’am, most of it is done by viruses introduced to the mother at crucial periods of gestation.”

“That’s how we do it too,” I said. “With navigation skills and with the special eyes that allow our pilots to see in the dark. It’s just very expensive, because it requires careful watching.”

He nodded. “Yes, but … there’s also people who are assembled, molecule by molecule and protein by protein in the lab. It starts with human genetics, but each one is selected individually. They’re not Mules. Or at least I suppose they aren’t, because the Mules took entire teams of dedicated people, and each of them worked only on this their whole lives. Of course, that was over four hundred years ago, and we’ve learned some new things, but we’ve also lost much in the way of knowledge and technology. So I don’t know if those people are Mules. They are technically like the Mules — the Patricians — in that they are created to be able to reproduce and to be as fast, as smart, as capable as they can be created.”

“Brisbois?” I said, trying to absorb this. I thought of those rough features, the prominent brow, the way he could keep up with me when I was running, the way he’d dragged me out of that ballroom unscathed.

“And Madame,” Mailys said, in a resigned tone.

“But why?” my voice came out almost whining.

“Because all the secret service of Monsieur… of the Patrician… the Good Man were created especially,” LaForce said. “His… his father… his … the Good Man before him, he didn’t trust anyone who wasn’t enhanced in the same way he was. He thought there was a natural enmity between what we’ll call Mules and what we’ll call, for lack of a better term, normal humans, which we still count as, even if enhanced. So he wanted his very own bodyguards, his secret service, the people close to him to be like him.”

“Then they’re not Mules,” I said. “Because those were all male.”

Corin shrugged. “I’m not exactly fully trained, Madame, but I know that it’s safer to create males and females and impair the reproductive abilities of both, than to create males only and count on them not being able to make females of their kind.” He looked me up and down. “I believe your existence shows those hopes were misguided.”

“But it took centuries,” I said, then thought better of it. “Or at least I think so. It’s what I was told, and what–” I stopped.

“Yes,” Mailys said. “From what I understand, we’re not done that way. Oh, I should… I mean I was raised by foster parents, because the doctor didn’t want me to be known as… one of his, but I am like Brisbois and Madame. I am still… too young but I was training to be… I was Brisbois’ trainee. To replace him. His…” She blushed dark. “His adopted daughter, you might say.”

I looked at Jonathan. “And you? You were in his office? You were wearing the uniform of the Good Man, you–”

“I am common as muck,” he said. “Oh, enhanced, sure, but not so enhanced that I was considered a danger to the human race if I reproduced. And my wife is not, that I know, any more enhanced than anyone else.”

 

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 38

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 38

She had seen human-style exercise machines before, so the sight of several of them being utilized by many humans was not a surprise. A few of them had serious expressions on their faces as they handled what were obvious great weights. Several of the others, though, were joking with each other as they went through their repetitions. Human humor was almost ubiquitous in Terra taif, Lim noted. Unsurprising, that was.

On the other side of the room from the machines a number of exercise mats were laid on the floor. It was there that the Jao were clustered. She looked back to make sure; yes, there were no Jao on the exercise machines.

“The Jao do not use the machines?”

Tully shook his head. “No. Their muscles are harder and stronger than human muscles to begin with, and then with the amount of swimming they do almost every day, they’re in constant trim. It’s almost like they were genetically optimized to be in superb condition all the time.”

“But they were,” Lim murmured.

Tully stopped and turned to stare at her. “What?”

“You did not know?”

The human shook his head.

“It was part of what the Ekhat did when they uplifted them to sentience.”

“And you know this how?”

Lim moved a hand in the Lleix gesture of displaying the obvious. “We have lost much of the Lleix knowledge over the ages as we were hunted and hid, but some pieces we retained. This was part of what we knew about the Jao, and was one of the reasons why we feared them so much.”

Tully stared at her, then shook his head sharply. “Just when I think I understand you people, one of you says something like that, and I realize that I really don’t know that much about you. You really were hiding for centuries, weren’t you?”

Lim nodded, using the human gesture. “Longer. The Jao were hunting us for the Ekhat before your Roman Empire was born.”

Tully said nothing; just shook his head again and turned to watch the troops. Lim stood beside him and observed.

The Jao and the human jinau on the mats were all involved in unarmed combat practice. After a while, Lim became aware of one group of humans standing around a mat where a human not dressed like the jinau was apparently working with the troops. One after another the jinau assaulted him; one after another he defeated them with smooth movements.

“Who is that man?” Lim asked Tully, indicating the human she had been observing.

“That’s who I want you to meet,” Tully responded. “His name is Zhao Jiguang, and he is perhaps the deadliest human I’ve ever met.”

“Is there a reason he isn’t dressed like the rest of the jinau?”

“That would be because he isn’t a jinau,” Tully said with a smile.

Lim stared at him, and she felt her aureole rising. “Is this an example of your humor? How can he be on this ship and not be one of the jinau?”

Tully sobered and held his hands up in front of his shoulders. “He’s a master of a martial art called Tai Chi. He came to Lieutenant General Kralik after the plasma disaster in China. He won’t join the jinau, but he did offer to train our troops and the general took him up on it. We’re lucky to have him on the ship.”

Lim looking again at the non-jinau human. He had stopped the exercise, and was talking to those surrounding him. To her eye, this Zhao person seemed not very impressive. He was not even as tall as Tully, much less one of the elders of the Lleix. He was not large. He was soft-spoken. Yet the humans around him were all focused on his words. As she watched, Zhao stopped speaking and placed his hands together before him. It was surprising to her that they all bowed to him; a bow which he returned. She knew that many of the so-called Oriental cultures used bows in formal manners, but it had never occurred to her to see it in a place like this, filled with sweating, grunting humans and Jao striving with each other.

Tully touched her on the shoulder. “Come on.”

Lim followed him over to the mat. Zhao looked toward them as they approached.

“Gabe!” Zhao’s face was split by a wide grin.

“Hey, Joe,” Tully said with an answering smile. They grabbed each other’s hands in a strong handshake, then Tully placed his hand on Zhao’s shoulder and turned to beckon her forward. “Joe, this is Lim, of the Lleix Terralore elian.”

Zhao’s grin slipped away, and he turned to face Lim. “I’ve wanted to meet one of your people for some time,” he said, putting his hands together and giving a slight bow. “It’s an honor to finally get the chance.”

Lim noted that his English was quite good, although with a very slight accent. “Are you from Beijing?” she asked in Mandarin.

Zhao’s eyes widened in delight, and he clapped his hands. “You speak Mandarin!” he exclaimed. “That is so cool!” He laughed for a moment. “Actually, my family is from Nanjing, although I was raised in San Diego.” He beamed at her.

Tully cleared his throat from behind him. “She wants to learn to fight, Joe.”

Zhao’s expression changed as sharply as if a switch had been flipped. He directed a piercing glance at her. Lim stared back at him. They stood thus for a long moment. At last Zhao broke the silence.

“Do you like tea?” he asked in Mandarin.

Of all the questions he could have asked, that was not among what Lim expected. She tilted her head slightly, considering him. “Except for Assam, yes.”

Zhao’s eyes crinkled a bit as he gave a small smile. “Good. You will visit me in my quarters, tomorrow morning, perhaps in midmorning?”

Lim considered him again, tilting her head slightly the other direction. “Yes,” she said after a moment.

Zhao bowed again to her, looked to Tully long enough to say, “Gabe,” and turned and left them there.

“You know, it’s rude to talk as if other people aren’t there,” Tully remarked as Zhao left the exercise space.

Lim deduced he was indulging in humor from the small smile that kept slipping around his mouth. “If Zhao Jiguang had wanted you to be a part of the conversation, he would have spoken to you in English.”

Tully laughed. “Fair answer, Lim. You’re learning how to deal with us. Now, let’s go find some lunch. If we’re lucky, Joe made some of it.”

Lim stopped. “Zhao Jiguang is a cook? I thought he was a fighter.”

Tully took Lim’s arm and urged her along. “Joe’s not a cook. He is many things; one of which is a tai chi master, another of which is a master chef. Now come on, let’s go check it out.”

****

“Emergence in Ares system confirmed,” the lead sensor officer called out. “Ares Base 118 degrees off port axis.”

Aille looked around as Yaut stirred. “Too much talk,” the fraghta muttered.

Aille let his angles slip to simple humor. “Humans talk, Yaut. Better that they talk about their work than not.” Yaut’s angles morphed to irritation. Aille’s blended a component of sly to his.

“Guard ships query received. Sending our response.” That from the communications tech, a short Jao.

“Trident emerged behind us,” came from the sensor officer again.

Terra-Captain Sanzh looked to Aille. He nodded. “Navigator, direct us to Ares Base,” the captain ordered.

“Kralik will not be happy to see you,” Yaut predicted.

Aille said nothing, but his body flowed into the angles for reluctant-agreement.

 

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 52

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 52

Jonathan sent Phillip a shocked look before he hurried over to the drawer in question and pulled out a pair of down-time spectacles. The moment he had them in his hands he held them in front of his eyes and smiled. “I’m not surprised you think these things are useless, but what about proper up-time ones. There’s an optometrist in Grantville. He can test your eyes and make you a pair of glasses that’ll give you 20/20 or better vision.”

“Twenty/twenty vision?” Phillip asked, not having any idea what it meant.

“It means you can read a line of type of a certain size at twenty feet that a normal person can read at twenty feet.” Jonathan waved towards the paper Phillip had been reading. “The way you were squinting at that, your vision might be something like 20/30 or 20/40.”

“How much would this cost?” Phillip asked.

Jonathan laughed. “You’re worried about being able to afford new glasses? You must be raking in a fortune with your little blue pills of happiness.”

Phillip winced a little at the name they were using for his Sal Vin Betula in Grantville. More important though, was the idea of getting spectacles. “How long would it take?”

“Well, the actual examination shouldn’t take more than an hour. Making up your prescription will depend on what they have in stock. You might be able to walk out of Grantville on the same day with a new pair of spectacles, or it could take a week or so if they have to grind some new lenses.”

“I will instruct Frau Mittelhausen to make an appointment for me. Who should she make it with?” Phillip asked Jonathan.

“Dr. Shipley, but make sure you ask for the optometrist, otherwise you’ll end up with an appointment to see his wife, the doctor of osteopathy.”

“Doctor,” Phillip said.

“Well, yes. Is that a problem?” Jonathan asked.

“No, no, of course not.”

Jonathan didn’t look convinced. “Dr. Gribbleflotz, I’ve heard a rumor that you don’t actually hold a doctorate.”

“Rumors, who believes rumors?” Phillip said with a shaky voice. “There is also a rumor that Professor Rolfinck would like to have me run out of Jena.”

“We can’t have that,” Jonathan said.

Phillip shook his head regretfully. “No one can stop him.”

“Well, I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Kubiak can do something.”

“What can they do against the dean of medicine at the University of Jena?”

“Would it make a difference if you held a doctorate?” Jonathan asked.

“Of course it would, but unfortunately, I don’t. Almost, but I don’t.”

“Does it matter where you get your doctorate from?” Jonathan asked.

“Of course it matters,” Phillip said. “A medical degree from Padua is the top medical degree. Jena is okay for law, and . . .”

“No,” Jonathan said. “I meant does it matter where your doctorate comes from when it comes to dealing with Professor Rolfinck?”

Phillip shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter, because I don’t have a doctorate, and I am unlikely to ever earn one.”

Jonathan nodded sympathetically. “There might be a way to get around your problem, Dr. Gribbleflotz.”

“Oh!”

Jonathan nodded. “Back up time there were institutions that awarded degrees, including doctorates based on what they called relevant life experience. All we have to do is find a suitable down-time institution.”

“No reputable university will award a degree based merely on relevant life experience,” Phillip said.

“They might,” Jonathan said, “if they were offered enough money.”

Phillip snorted his disbelief. “Impossible.”

“You wait,” Jonathan said, waving a finger at Phillip. “I’ll talk to Mr. and Mrs. Kubiak and see what they think.”

“It would be easier for me to leave Jena,” Phillip said.

“But you’d be leaving under a cloud, and it would damage your brand,” Jonathan protested.

“My brand?” Phillip asked.

“Sure. Gribbleflotz Sal Vin Betula, Gribbleflotz Sal Aer Fixus, and Gribbleflotz’ little blue pills of happiness.” Jonathan waved his hands. “The Kubiaks can’t afford to have you kicked out of Jena.”

Phillip glanced around his laboratory. It was a nice space, built according to his specifications, with a few up-time improvements. He didn’t want to leave it. “You’re welcome to talk to the Kubiaks about a, what do you call the kind of institution that sells degrees?”

“A diploma mill,” Jonathan said. “You won’t regret this,” he said.

Whoooomp!

Jonathan leapt over to the fume cupboard and hauled down the sash. He turned and smiled at Philip. “I guess we forgot about something. Do you want to have another go?”

Phillip looked at the purple cloud being drawn up the fume cupboard chimney. He’d forgotten all about the experiment. “That is supposed to be safe?”

“Hey,” Jonathan protested. “It’s not like we’re chasing mercury around the bench tops with our bare hands.”

Phillip looked askance at Jonathan. “What is wrong with mercury?”

“It’s considered too dangerous to use in the classroom,” Jonathan explained. “Dad calls it health and safety gone mad, because when he was at school they used to be allowed to play with it. On the other hand,” Jonathan admitted, “there are the stories about mad hatters.”

“Pardon?” Philip asked.

“Hat makers used to use mercury, and it drove them mad. Hence the phrase mad as a hatter, like in Alice in Wonderland.”

“Alice in Wonderland?” Phillip asked. He was getting very confused.

“It’s the name of a famous up-time book. One of the characters was called the Mad Hatter.”

Phillip shook his head. “Mercury is perfectly safe,” he said as he wandered over to a bookshelf and pulled out a book. “My great grandfather, the Great Paracelsus himself, wrote this book about using mercury to treat syphilis.”

“But did it work?” Jonathan asked. “Back up-time we were regularly bombarded with reports on the dangers of mercury.”

“Of course it worked!” Phillip said with some heat. “My great grandfather wouldn’t have promoted a treatment that didn’t work.”

Jonathan held his hands up defensively. “Okay, okay, keep your shirt on. I know they tried and failed to ban its use in dentistry.” That reminded Jonathan of something else. “While you’re getting your eyes tested, it might be an idea to have one of the dentists check out your teeth.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my teeth,” Phillip insisted, even as he tried to look at them in the reflection of the fume cupboard’s sash window.

“It’s just a suggestion,” Jonathan said. “Now, back to our experiment.”

***

Phillip touched the feather to the nitrogen tri-iodide on the middle paper. He’d thought that he’d been ready for it, but the reaction happened so fast. Fortunately he’d had the sash of the fume cupboard almost closed, so only a little of the purple vapor entered his laboratory. A few minutes later the vapor dissipated to reveal the tower of samples of nitrogen tri-iodide on sheets of paper had all exploded. He looked at the result with interest. He’d only touched one sample, but all of them had detonated, and so quickly. It would definitely be an interesting addition to his public demonstrations.

He walked over to his chemicals rack and pulled out the jar of iodine. It was nearly half full, or for someone intending to use the contents in important public seminars, half empty. He turned to Jonathan. “Next time you’re in Grantville, could you order some more iodine for me?’

“Are you planning on repeating the experiment?”

Phillip nodded. “I hold regular seminars and demonstrations of various things of interest. I’m sure my regulars would be interested in seeing your contact explosive.”

****

Jonathan stopped off at the Kubiak residence on the way home. Actually, the house on Mahan Run was quite a way out of the way home, but he thought that the sooner something was done about finding a diploma mill for Dr. Gribbleflotz the better.

There was a new face it the house when he arrived. A young girl grabbed a baby and bolted the moment she saw Jonathan at the door.

“Who was that?” he asked when Ted let him into the house.

“Richelle. She’s a refugee we’ve decided to adopt.”

Refugee, female, plus baby all went together to give Jonathan an idea why she might have bolted at the sight of a strange male. It made him sick to think of what might have happened to the girl, but there was little he could do about it, so he turned to the reason for his visit. “I dropped by to visit Dr. Gribbleflotz today and . . .”

“You did what?” Tracy demanded from the kitchen door.

 

Castaway Odyssey – Chapter 22

Castaway Odyssey – Chapter 22

Chapter 22.

Campbell blinked his eyes blearily, forced them to focus. What… Oh. I’m inside my suit.

For a moment he was confused. Was I on EVA? Fixing something? What happened?

When he tried to sit up, he felt the tremendous lethargy and pain of having been still for many hours, even days, and his leg gave a dull throb despite what his nanos reported as “significant pain reduction”.

That cleared his head, and he knew exactly why he was here.

“Sergeant? Sergeant, do you hear me?”

He managed to force his lips into a grin, though that hurt too. “Loud and clear, Captain Xander.”

The other boys were crowding round, all looking relieved. “So, how long have I been out?”

“Longer than we expected. Earth-time, about a day and a half?”

“Damn. That is a long time. Hold on.” He consulted his nanos and winced. That venom was a nasty cocktail, that’s for sure. “Looks like I’m conscious but a long way from running a marathon. Damn thing’s venom ate a hole in me that goes to the bone and you could fit two, three fingers into it right now.”

Tavana made a face and Francisco shuddered. Xander nodded. “Yeah, I saw that. Took it a while to get all the necrotic under control; there were some kind of other elements to the poison, like boosting factors or something, that didn’t count as venom themselves but helped it work. Same for the neurotoxin.”

Campbell reviewed the data and nodded. “I see that. It neutralized most of it fairly quickly, then there was a second wave of activity. Wish I was a biochemist, I might know exactly how that worked. Anyway, looks like I’m on the mend, just slowly. Good thinking, by the way, in putting me into the suit; a lot easier than bedpans and such.” He could see that one arm was out of the suit, so that the IV could be used.

He smelled an unidentifiable but still savory scent, and his stomach growled. “Now that smells good, whatever it is. I’m starving. No surprise there.”

“That’s what bit you,” Tavana said. “And I’m sorry –”

“Not your fault, mine,” Campbell said instantly. “You didn’t know what to watch for. I damn well did, and didn’t brief you; I earned that bite. Let’s just learn the lesson it taught us, right?”

Tavana glanced at Xander and the two grinned. “So, you were right, Xander.”

“Told you.”

Campbell raised an eyebrow. “All right, you boys obviously had a talk or two. Anyway, before we go around eating the native food, how do you know it’s safe?”

Xander hesitated; to Campbell’s astonishment, Francisco stepped forward. “Because I tried some first, and my nanos decided it was all safe. I was watched for a whole day afterward.”

“Francisco? How’d that happen?” he demanded.

Xander, looking nervous, related the entire conversation that had led to the decision that Francisco would test native food.

Campbell was silent for a few minutes afterward, and he could see the others becoming increasingly nervous. Finally, with an effort, he forced himself up to a semi-sitting position. “Francisco, that was damned brave of you,” he said finally. He saw the boy’s chin come up proudly. “And in principle, you boys were right. Right now, Francisco’s the one we can risk most, no matter how much that sounds bass-ackwards.”

“But in practice?” Xander said after a moment, clearly bracing for a major dressing-down.

“Relax, Xander. In practice, you boys just don’t know how to do this thing right. I think you already realized there’s poisons out there that even a small nibble of could kill, right?”

Xander nodded.

“There’s a procedure for this kind of thing that avoids most of the danger, and from now on we use it. We’re not in danger of starving; we have time to work in. We’ll work out details later, but basically you first do a contact poison test – touch it to part of the skin, like inside the arm, the wrist maybe. Wait a while and see if you have a reaction – the nanos would be able to tell if it’s an allergy or a toxin. Then you take a tiny bit, chew, and spit out – don’t swallow ANYTHING. Rinse out your mouth, even. That will catch really virulent poisons that are mobile through the mucous membranes. Then you try a little nibble.

“For animals, internal organs are ‘be real careful’ things. Might have a lot of nutrients, or might have heavy-duty toxins.” He had to pause then. Damn, this lying around poisoned sure takes it out of you. Good thing the nanos keep you more functional than you might be otherwise. “But really, you did good, both of you. Anything else to report?”

Tavana summarized the other work they had done, including finishing the job that had gotten the Sergeant laid up. “Got back on that horse, did you?”

Tavana nodded. “Xander said we had to. I… I’m glad he did.”

“So am I.” He let the two of them – with occasional interruptions and additions from Maddox and Francisco – finish their impromptu briefing.

When they were finished, he nodded, then opened a private channel to Xander. You done good, son. Kept things going, prevented any panic, moved our little colony forward – quite a ways in the little time I was out.

Thank you, sir.

No, thank you. I had to dump the whole load on you in the middle of an emergency. I’ve seen trained recruits that would’ve dropped that ball, but you took it and ran the whole length of the field.

He spoke aloud. “You all did a great job. Makes me proud of all of you to know that even if the old Sergeant’s out of commission, you’ll still get things done.”

All four of them straightened, looking proud and happy – and, in Campbell’s view, they damned well ought to.

“Now,” he said after a moment, “can I get some of that, what did you call it? Centisnake, that’s it, and see what the native food’s got to offer?”

“Yes, Sergeant!” Francisco said eagerly, and ran to the other room; both Maddox and Tavana followed, obviously to make sure he remembered things like plates, utensils, and such.

In the momentary quiet, Xander nodded to him. “I guess you can send that revocation code now.”

“I could, but I ain’t.” At Xander’s startled, gratified look, he grinned, then went serious. “Son, first off, I’m a long way from being in any shape to run things. The boss of this expedition’s got to be able to cover the ground – run his ass off, really – and best guess I see here is that it’s gonna be at least a week or so before I’m even starting to get on my feet, and a couple months before I’m going to be close to my old self.”

“That long?”

“Necrotic damage is nasty, Xander. And regenerating lost muscle tissue… well, if these weren’t military grade, might not be happening at all. Another reason I didn’t hesitate to take the hit for Tavana; I can afford that kind of injury more than any of you.” He shook his head. “So while I’ll be givin’ you all the advice and support I can, for the next few weeks, you’re still the damn Captain of this crew.”

He took a breath, but at that point the others came back in, bearing a length of well-browned meat on a plate. The smell was extremely tempting; however, knowing how long it had been since he’d eaten and how he was still really adjusting to consciousness, he controlled his initial ravenous impulses and cut a small piece, chewed thoughtfully and carefully. “Well, now. That’s not bad at all.” He took another bite. “Eaten gators that tasted worse. This could be a pretty good staple, if there’s a lot of them.”

A ping from a private channel – Xander, of course. And after you’re better?

Still not revoking your access to them, he replied silently. Might tweak it so that I can still override you, but honestly? We can’t take the risk that we will lose access to key capabilities here just because one of us – even me – gets killed. Truth be told, we should probably make sure that Tavana has the codes and they go active if we get taken out.

Makes sense. Thank you again, Sergeant.

You’re welcome. And thank you again.

“Well, there were four of them here, at least,” Tavana said in response to his last audible comment. “But probably harder to hunt them when you have not plowed their holes down to rock!”

“A better choice would be to see if we can find out what they eat,” Campbell said. “Carnivores are always a lot rarer than their prey. But we won’t be doing much exploration for a bit.”

He took another bite, feeling better already – not from some sudden healing, but because he was now sure that, even without him, these kids would make it. Oh, Emerald’s got more surprises. I know it. I can smell ’em out there. But Xander’s got sense, Tavana’s got more guts than he knows, and the other two ain’t lacking, either.

The only thing left to mar his mood was knowing that Pearce Haley was still in deathly sleep a dozen meters away. But we have months to work on that, too. Maybe, just maybe, we can save her, too.

And now… now I know we have those months.