Eric Flint's Blog, page 303

The Savior – Snippet 14

The Savior – Snippet 14

4

As she’d predicted, the fever struck Edgar hard. She bathed him frequently to bring the temperature down and made sure that he did not yank the bandage off his arm, which he tried to do several times in his delirium. After two days, the fever broke. Edgar drank a prodigious amount of tea, and she had to order the servants not to bring him wine because he wanted a bottle of that, as well.

“So you stayed with me through all of this?” Edgar said to her. “I suppose I ought to thank you.”

“I was doing my duty to the house,” Mahaut replied.

“Yes, the house. Meaning the old man of the house.”

“And to you.”

Edgar smiled, closed his eyes, and nodded. “Damn right you were.” He chuckled. “Do you want me to tell you what happened?”

“If it will make you feel better to go into it,” Mahaut said.

Edgar snorted in contempt at her, but apparently his need to talk overcame his petulance, and he began to speak.

It was, as Mahaut had suspected, a dueling wound. He’d fought in Garangipore at the dueling grounds the First Family bravos preferred down by the Canal. The weapons had been blunderbuss pistols. The other had gotten his shot off first, at least according to Edgar. He’d scored the hit in Edgar’s arm, but the shot had not brought Edgar down. To the contrary, it had only made him angrier. Edgar had then taken his time lining up his weapon.

“The bugger stood in place, as a gentleman should, do you believe it?” Edgar said, shaking his head.

Edgar had shot the other straight through the heart.

“I don’t consider myself a crack shot or anything,” Edgar said. “But at twenty paces, I’m rather proud of myself for that one.”

“You killed him?”

“Dead before he hit the ground.”

“And who was this?”

Edgar winced. “I’m afraid that’s the problem. He wasn’t a nobody, and he wasn’t just anybody.”

“Just tell me who it was, Edgar.”

Another wince from Edgar.

This really is going to be bad news.

“It was Walter Eisenach,” Edgar replied in a pained whisper.

“Walter Eisenach of House Eisenach? The firstborn son of the gunpowder baron of Bruneberg?”

“I see you’ve been paying attention to your First Family genealogy lessons.”

Did he think she would not know House Eisenach when she was competing against them every day for shipping space on the barges?

“Curse it, Edgar, do you know what this might mean to House Jacobson?”

“Since when did you start caring so much what becomes of the sons of House Jacobson?”

“Edgar, this is not good.”

“I know that, you idiot,” he said. “He had it coming, though. The bastard challenged me to meet him. I would’ve gotten away, but my exit plan from the town ran into a snag, I’m afraid, and I was forced to confront him. It’s his own fault he’s dead.”

“Do you imagine that’s the way his father will look at it?” Mahaut asked.

“I suppose not.”

“Are you going to tell me what the duel was over? Was it over a gambling debt?”

“Oh, now you want to know the details. No, not gambling,” he said. “Go on, guess some more.”

“It was over a woman.”

“Not exactly,” said Edgar with a philosophical sigh.

“Don’t tell me that you killed him because he made some insulting remark? Even you are not that stupid, Edgar.”

Edgar looked up at her with flaring eyes and snorted from an angry intake of breath. But he was too weak to sustain it, and fell back onto his bed. “Like I told you, he’s the one that called me out. And it wasn’t because I insulted him to his face or anything.”

“Are you going to tell me, or shall we wait for Benjamin to drag it out of you?”

Edgar considered her for a long moment. Then he smiled. Not a good sign. When Edgar smiled like this it meant he was up to no good. “I suppose I could tell you. You’re not going to like it. Are you sure you want to hear about it?”

“I think I must.”

“He believed that I had gotten a woman pregnant. He believed that I had insulted the honor of his house.”

“Who did you get pregnant?” Mahaut didn’t really want to hear the answer, but she knew she needed to if she had any hope to contain the damage.

“It wasn’t even his little bastard! The bugger claimed that I gotten his sister with child. She’s married to his best friend from childhood. Can you imagine that? What if your brother Xavier had forced you to marry me, instead of your choosing to do it of your own free will? What if he’d forced you to have sex with me, instead of your liking it so much you begged for more.”

“Let’s not go down that road, Edgar.” Mahaut shook her head. She would not let him get to her, not ever again. “And did you get her pregnant?”

“Perhaps. Who knows? Somebody did, and I have a feeling it wasn’t her husband, since he was away on business in Lindron for the past five months.”

“I won’t ask why you did it,” Mahaut said. “But I do wonder why her, of all women?”

“You may find this hard to believe, wife, but many women find me difficult to resist. In fact, I had turned the poor thing away several times, but she kept showing up on my doorstep.”

“You know how to avoid making a woman pregnant.”

“Yes. Marry a woman who gets her womb torn to pieces by a bullet while fighting in a battle that she had no business being involved in in the first place.” He finished off the statement with a disgusted smile. “Betta Eisenach is pure First Family. Maybe I didn’t use the sheath on purpose. Maybe I wanted to plant my seed in a whole woman of the finest stock.”

Mahaut sighed. Edgar’s insults were like insectoid chirping to her now. “Edgar, this could be a disaster. Do you know what it means when First Families feud? You didn’t die. They’ll want a price in blood for Walter Eisenach. They may even come after your brother.”

“Oh, my brother can take care of himself,” Edgar replied. “Or at least Father will.”

Mahaut considered him, then leaned back in her chair. She had moved it to be by his bedside and had stayed in it constantly for the last three days.

“It’s time to change your bandages again,” she finally said. “We’ll take a good look at the wound when we do.” She allowed herself to smile wickedly. “There’s still a chance that arm will have to come off.”

 

Paradigms Lost – Chapter 17

Paradigms Lost – Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Laughing Assassin

I really don’t like this one.

I’d done plenty of work for the police, and other people. I may not have been very old, but I’d already done everything from enhance photos and research prior art on patents to, well, finding out that vampires were real. Sometimes you get feelings about things, and right now, I had a very strong, very bad feeling about the job I was doing for Xavier Ross.

Not that I felt there was anything wrong with doing the job; I didn’t think there was anything shady about the kid himself. But I was finding way too many questions than I should in a case that had been closed by police. Way too many. Oh, a lot of them were circumstantial, but the fact was that most good cops pay attention to stuff like that, and this case had been closed up so quick and neat…

The door chimed as someone came through, and I looked up from my monitor. Damn. Well, I knew he was coming soon. “Hello, Mr. Ross. Please, sit down.”

Xavier looked hopeful. “Did you…”

“I found some things, yes.” I picked up a file and handed it to him.

“For a fairly well-known figure, your brother was good at losing people. He turned out to be pretty hard to track. The bill for this is not going to be cheap.”

He was already glancing through the file. “I know. Will seven thousand dollars cut it?”

That’s about what I’d charge the cops, but … he’s serious. “I’d find that acceptable, perhaps overgenerous, but Mr. Ross, you are a minor. I’m starting to get very very uncomfortable with this. I find it extremely hard to believe your mother would approve of you spending a total of ten thousand dollars on an investigation that may not even go anywhere.”

“Look,” he said, “can we discuss that afterward? I’d really like to hear what you found.”

I sighed. “Okay. But I’m not forgetting this subject.” I turned to the monitor. “I started trying to trace his movements around the time that we first found indications that his records had been altered. At that point he was working on an article for Time on the nightclub revival in New York City.

“Now, that assignment finished up a little before Christmas; he came back up here for the holidays but then went back to New York for several days. He got an assignment that flew him out to Costa Rica, but as soon as that was done he came back to New York and again spent several days there before he came up to visit you.”

Xavier looked up, startled. “But… I remember him saying he’d flown straight back from Costa Rica.”

“Not unless he was letting someone use his ID and credit cards, he didn’t.”

“Wait… you’re not the police, how could you…?”

“Let’s say that while what I did is technically probably legal I don’t want to discuss the details and the police would take a very dim view of it.” I couldn’t get direct access to such information without police authority, but there were indirect methods to get people to give you that information.

“All right,” the boy said, settling back into his chair. “I didn’t want you to do anything to get yourself in trouble.”

I shrugged. “I’m not in trouble. Now, anyway. If you talk about this to too many people I might be, so it’s up to you whether I’m in trouble.”

“Hey, I won’t talk about this.”

“Okay. Your brother then went to the West Coast and got a couple of assignments in the Los Angeles vicinity. Note that the order there is important. He’d already flown to Los Angeles when National Geographic asked him to do a photo article on modern filmmaking and another for current earthquake research at the universities.”

“So… he wanted to go to Los Angeles and found jobs to keep himself there?”

“That’s my guess. What I can’t get much of without extra research is the exact locations he went. I can show you the hotels where he stayed and some of the restaurants he ate at, but where he went when he was on his own… I really don’t know. There were a couple locations I got lucky and made a hit on — Thanation Research and Development apparently hired him during his visit as a photographer for a big release event, for instance — but for the most part? No clue. I’d have to hire some real talent to do gumshoe work through the city, and the trail’s already pretty cold.”

Xavier rolled his eyes skyward. “Damn. What about those pictures?”

“The girl?” I shrugged. “I did quite a bit of looking through various file references but I haven’t turned up an ID yet. Now, if you could wait a few months…”

He started to shake his head violently, then controlled himself with a visible effort. “Why a few months?”

“Because I might be able to get access to an online image comparator that can access a very large database of photos, if I ask the right people nicely. Something I’d really like to have but it’s way out of my price range, unfortunately.”

“What about hiring those… people you mentioned to do the work to find out –”

No. “Xavier, that would start to get very expensive. Very, very expensive. I don’t care how much your … bank account has in it, this is going too far outside of my comfort zone. This is something much more for the police than for someone like me. You’ve got some circumstantial evidence I’ve given you; maybe they’ll reopen the case. But at this point I think I have to stop. If you were an adult… maybe. Probably. But honestly? It sounds like you’re obsessing over this.”

Xavier glared at me with those startling gray eyes.

“I understand you cared about your brother very much –”

“She laughed,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“The bi… girl that killed him. She killed him, and he was screaming, and then she picked the phone up and laughed about it.”

Crap. I could see the anger — very cold, very hard — in his eyes, and hear it in his voice. Xavier Ross might be a kid, but he was old enough apparently to have an adult’s desire for justice… or revenge. “You heard this?”

“He was …” his voice caught, then he managed to control it. “He was talking to me when she did it.”

“Sure it was a ‘she’?”

His smile was tight, without much humor. “Yeah. I can’t prove it, but I’m sure. Real sure. Almost sounded like a little girl, and the way my brother reacted before… before she did it, he didn’t think she was a threat, just someone who wanted to use the phone.”

That was surprising on multiple levels. His brother had obviously called him from a public phone — not a hotel room, not using a cell phone. And then he’d been apparently killed quickly and savagely by someone he didn’t think of as threatening. Given that my research had shown Michael Ross as a survivor of dangerous situations around the world, and an expert in both armed and unarmed combat… whoever took him down had to be something special. “And she laughed?”

“Oh, yeah.” His teeth clenched so hard I could see the muscles jump at his temples before he relaxed. “I…” He swallowed. “I heard Mike s…scream, and then… she laughed. Like a … like a happy girl. And she said ‘Oh, so pretty, so pretty, the patterns in the moonlight. But oh, such a waste of blood.’ And then she whispered ‘ Michael’s quiet now. He says goodbye,’ and hung up on me.”

Jesus H. Christ. I couldn’t blame Xavier for his anger. That was one of the most macabre stories I’d ever heard. “I’m sorry, Xavier. That’s… hideous.”

He looked at me. “But you’re still not going to help me anymore.”

I shook my head reluctantly. “No. This is clearly police business. Take the evidence I’ve got, bring it to Lieutenant Reisman — you know her?”

He nodded. “She interviewed me.”

“Okay, take it to her, tell her you got it from me. I’m sure they’ll have to reopen the case, especially if you and your family push for it.”

He looked unconvinced, but apparently the expression on my face convinced him I wasn’t going to change my mind. “Okay.”

He got out his credit card, but I waved it away. “Not taking any more from you, not after that story. Consider it a public service. Someone like that shouldn’t get away with it.”

His expression brightened, just a hair. “Thanks. I mean it.”

“You’re welcome.” I shook his hand. “Good luck, Xavier.”

I watched him go out the door. They damn well better reopen that case, because he’s not taking “no” for an answer.

 

Trial By Fire – Snippet 31

Trial By Fire – Snippet 31

Darzhee Kut bobbed his appreciation for the answer–and turned when First Voice called his name. “Speaker Kut, has your interrogation of the human prisoners furnished any new perspectives that bear upon our current invasion plans?”

Darzhee was considering how best to emphasize–again–that the humans were not prisoners, when Hu’urs Khraam intervened. “First Voice, I have screened the recordings made of Speaker Kut’s conversations with the humans. Neither of them are familiar with our projected area of groundside operations and have not been on Earth for over half a year. They seem to have little information relevant to that aspect of our invasion. And while they were not stunned at our attack, nor that the Hkh’Rkh were our allies in it, they were surprised that we were able to mount it so quickly after the conclusion of the Convocation.”

“And their knowledge of broader military deployment?”

“Neither human is privy to recent information of this kind. However, their inability to confirm or contradict our assessments is not worrisome. We consider our present sources most reliable.”

“Who are these sources?” First Voice asked.

The First Delegate himself answered. “They are several.” Darzhee Kut noted the curious evasiveness of Hu’urs Khraam’s response; if First Voice had also, he did not press the point. “Indeed, their own broadcasts are not the least among these.”

“That intelligence must be at least ten years old.”

“Slightly more, actually, but we believe it to be serviceable. The most pertinent facts have not changed significantly since then. Indonesia is still a nation plagued by overpopulation, poverty, pollution, poor resource management, and inadequate public utilities. Several political separatist factions still operate within its borders, as well as the Pan-Islamic religious insurgency that has been globally active for more than a century now. The population harbors resentments against both its own government and the Earth’s dominant nations for its condition.”

“And this is where the humans elected to build their orbital-launch mass driver?” Graagkhruud scoffed. “Were they mad?”

Urzueth picked up the tale. “Our sources indicate that the mass driver was an attempt to economically strengthen the nation, to foster foreign trade and investment, and to thereby assuage the general dissatisfaction that fueled the various insurgencies. Besides, the island of Java was a logical location. It sits astride or near several major shipping routes, including the singularly important Strait of Malacca. It is close to the equator and its mountainous spine was a natural support for the mass driver’s long, high-angle, electromagnetic launch tube. Labor costs were cheap and local environmental restrictions–what few there were–were easily waived.”

First Voice waggled his body where his neck spread out into extremely sloped shoulders. “All reasons for us to seize the island. I understand. But I am concerned that the population is too large to control without resorting to–extreme measures.”

“We predict otherwise. Firstly, as I have mentioned, some of our sources are based within the general region and others represent globally-pervasive megacorporations that have expressed sympathy for our plans.”

“They would take allegiance against their own world?” Graagkhruud’s voice was a choking roll of phlegm.

“They would, in order to be its leaders when we depart.”

Yaargraukh shifted in his seat. “Allies bought with money and promises are only allies until they find a higher bidder.” For the first time that he could remember, Darzhee Kut saw First Fist Graagkhruud pony-nod in agreement with something that Advocate Yaargraukh had said.

“We are very cognizant of this,” replied Hu’urs Khraam. “However, our human allies stand much to gain immediately upon our arrival, and yet, have little influence over the outcome of our campaign, which enjoys the advantage of being conducted on an isolated land mass. As an island nation, Indonesia affords us a geographically finite periphery, the borders of which are easily scanned and interdicted, given our absolute air superiority and orbital fire support. This allows us to annihilate counterattacks mounted by air or sea, and to bring decisive and accurate fire to bear upon any indigenous insurgents. We have elected to restrict operations to the islands of Java, as per your suggestions. There is no reason to overstretch our already limited forces.”

“All quite prudent, but what of their submarines?” First Voice almost sounded fretful. “I am familiar with the problems of detecting these craft from the few wars in which we used them. Even our sensors cannot detect them at depths greater than five hundred meters, if they are following stealth protocols.”

Darzhee Kut hid the amused quivering of his taste-polyps. You also don’t want to admit that you’re upset because the human nautical technology is vastly superior to your own.

Hu’urs Khraam spread his claws. “Controlling the submarines is a concern, but we have complete confidence in our maritime sensors, undersea drones, and especially the purpose-built airphibian vehicles we have with us. But we must also remember that the human submarines are dated craft. Most are over forty years old and are scheduled to be decommissioned. Besides, how large a counterinvasion force can they mount from such vessels?”

“I am more concerned with their nuclear capabilities.”

“Which is why our occupation–all our cantonments and bases–will be located within the human cities of Java. The humans’ strategic defense forces will be unable to target us, for we will have their fellow-creatures as our living shields. This of course presumes that their submarines would survive the rise to launch depth, for once we detect such vessels, our orbital fire support will eliminate them within twenty seconds. With this one minor threat controlled, we can consolidate our position untroubled by other strategic incursions. The region is not self-sufficient in rice production, but a brief cessation of all maritime contact will not induce immediate famine and civil unrest. This minimizes the likelihood of a popular insurgency arising.

“Most importantly, however, Indonesia is far away from Earth’s true political centers. This provides us with a buffer from the immense military formations possessed by the largest powers, and allows us to control the degree of friction and hostility present in our discussions with their political leaders. Were we to land in, let us say, the Eurasian landmass, or North America, or coastal China, diplomacy and negotiation would immediately break down. Which, in turn, would make it impossible for us discuss our terms with the humans and explain the wisdom of acceding to them.”

Darzhee surprised himself by asking without a warning preamble. “What are these terms?”

Hu’urs Khraam settled his claws slowly to the table. “Complete withdrawal from the 70 Ophiuchi star system and a co-dominium of Barnard’s Star with the Arat Kur Wholenest.”

“And the surrender of a habitable world in what they call their Big Green Main, for settlement by the Hkh’Rkh.” First Voice had risen, crest erect, as he said it.

Darzhee Kut looked back and forth. “Surely, this last requirement is a ploy.”

First Voice looked down his very long snout. “This is not a ploy, but a plan to expand.”

Darzhee Kut could hardly believe what he was hearing. “And what of the human colony that is already on whichever world is so ceded?”

Hu’urs Khraam offered a soothing hum. “They will continue to be self-determining, and will not be relocated.”

“But if the rest of the humans should become aggressive–”

“The population would, of course, be at great risk from reprisals.”

Darzhee Kut glanced sidelong at Graagkhruud, whose tongue flicked slightly. A colony of hostages with their neck encircled by a predator’s talons. “First Delegate, surely there is room for negotiation on all these points.”

First Voice’s neck stretched high and straight. “Your terms are your affair. Ours are not negotiable. And your support of them is the price of our cooperation and alliance. The humans have gathered all the green worlds unto themselves. We must seize one if there is to be any semblance of parity.”

Darzhee Kut bobbed once. “With respect, First Voice, the worlds they occupied, though they did not know it at the time, are all within the sphere allowed them under the Accords.”

Phlegm fluttered in First Voice’s nose. “We are allies with you because we not only have common cause against the humans, but against the Accords. Its legalities are claws without bones; they are abominations to be brushed aside. Now, time grows short. Did the humans reveal anything useful?”

“Not really,” Darzhee admitted. “But this is not surprising. They are both proficient, and probably trained, in being able to converse without revealing strategically sensitive information. However, I found one moment puzzling in my conversation with Caine Riordan. With your permission, I would like to replay it for you.”

Silence granted consent. Darzhee Kut pushed a stud on his control wand.

The flat holographic screen centered on the long wall of the meeting module revealed Darzhee Kut facing Riordan, who was nodding, seemed oddly calm as he commented. “And so you plan to attack Indonesia. May I ask why?”

Darzhee Kut watched his own claws rise. “Is it not obvious? It is at a great enough remove from your major powers that they will not feel so directly threatened and thus might listen long enough to hear our terms for withdrawal. For I assure you, Caine Riordan, that we do not wish to remain on your planet.”

“There are many places more remote from the great powers of my world than Indonesia. Why there?”

“Can you not guess?”

“The mass driver.”

“It was a surety that you would see this. Many nations have labored long and spent dearly to build this extraordinary device. And they will not wish us to harm it. Similarly, they will avoid harming it themselves.”

 

The Savior – Snippet 13

The Savior – Snippet 13

3

“He’ll be here in a moment, my dear,” said Benjamin to Mahaut. “I don’t know what he has got himself into this time, but he appears to be injured, at least that’s the reports I’ve heard.”

Benjamin sighed and handed his dust jacket, the covering he wore when inspecting the silos, to a servant. He went to sit down in a chair in the large common room of the compound. Another servant emerged from the alcoves and began to fan him with a reed frond.

Mahaut poured a cup of wine out of the clay decanter on a nearby table and brought it over to Benjamin. He accepted it gratefully and took a sip.

Mahaut hated to see her father-in-law like this. She was so used to him being in command, so used to his stern but usually fair judgment. To see him sad and at wit’s end pained her heart.

“Whatever it is we will get it tended to, Pater,” she replied. She poured herself a stiff cup of wine as well. She was going to need it.

Four servants brought Edgar in on a flat board. He was conscious, and he smiled weakly as he was brought before his father. “I seem to have had a small hunting accident,” he said.

Mahaut shook her head in exasperation. Edgar had probably practiced this line over and over again to tell to his father as a kind of joke. Knowing him, the thought of his father’s annoyed reaction to those lame words was probably what had sustained him on the long ride to Lilleheim.

“You don’t hunt,” said Benjamin.

“Yes, I do, and in this kind of hunting my prey fired back at me,” Edgar said. He attempted a chuckle, but it only came out as a gagging sound.

It seemed that the two facetious statements he’d managed to get out had exhausted all of the man’s reserves. He fell unconscious on the wooden plank that served as a stretcher.

“We found him out in the yard fallen off his animal,” said the stableman, Bronson, who looked after the family’s personal donts and oversaw a breeding program. “He was lying on his back with one foot still caught in a stirrup. He was holding that arm and moaning.”

Mahaut looked down at her husband. Someone had wrapped a linen bandage around the upper part of Edgar’s left arm. The bandage was now soaked through with blood and hung partially open. A portion of the arm just below the shoulder showed through. It was torn and bloody. The arm looked as if a large chunk of muscle had been blasted off. Mahaut had seen bullet wounds before, and that’s what this clearly was.

“Take him to our rooms,” Mahaut said. “Don’t touch the wound. I will gather some things and come to tend him in a moment.”

The servants carried Edgar away. Benjamin caught Mahaut’s eye. “You will take care of him, won’t you, my dear?”

“Of course, Pater,” she said.

“Will you use the new technique that the soldier taught to you? I was very skeptical of it at first, but it worked. I like anything that works. And since you’ve been treating the servants’ cuts and bruises, we have much fewer sick days.”

“I think whoever bound Edgar’s wound before knew nothing of infection, but we will clean the wound, sterilize what we can, and maybe that will be enough for him to keep the arm.”

Benjamin blanched at this statement from Mahaut. She didn’t fully understand why pain for Edgar caused pain in Benjamin, but she admired that in her father-in-law. It was too bad Edgar didn’t merit it.

She went to the room with boiled bandages, and her own hands thoroughly cleaned. She had the servants take off Edgar’s jacket and shirt, telling them to be careful not to touch the wound in the process. Then she knelt next to him and got to work.

Edgar had passed out exhausted, and even when she picked through the wound, searching for any stray fragments of lead or shattered bone, his only response was a grunt. She cleaned the surface around the wound as carefully as she could with lye soap. Then she took out her boiled needle and thread and began to stitch the wound back together. This did awaken Edgar, and he attempted to twist away, but Mahaut had beforehand instructed the servants to hold him down. They did so, and Edgar was too weak to resist. She continued with her stitches until she closed the wound as well as she could with what skin and muscle she could catch for an edge. She bandaged her work with sterilized cloth.

The servants let Edgar go. He sat up quickly and took a swing at Mahaut with his good hand. She had expected something like this and easily blocked it.

Never again, she thought. You lay a hand on me, you pay.

She reached down and put her fingers around his neck. She pressed. Hard.

For a moment. Edgar stared up at her in terror. Was she going to choke him to death now? Mahaut smiled and said, “Not yet, my husband.” She lowered her hands to his shoulders and pulled him up. “Get some pillows behind him,” she said to the servants. “Prop him up.”

He would be combating dehydration and the loss of a great deal of blood. She made him drink several cups of tea before she allowed him to lie back down. Within moments, he had passed out again.

“The fever will set in now,” she said. She turned to Wolfe, the senior-most of the servants in the room. “You’ll need to prepare some cloths to bathe him. We’ll soak them with cold water to keep the heat down, so we must use water from the deep well for that.” She considered. “And I’ll want a bathtub always standing by. He’ll also get chills. Have some blankets ready in case I need them. Boil more cloth for bandages. Lots of it. We’re going to keep this wound as clean as possible for several days.”

“What will you do, Land-heiress?” asked Wolfe.

“I’ll stay here with my husband, of course,” Mahaut replied.

Wolfe nodded and glanced away, but not before Mahaut saw the disapproval in his eyes.

“Please do not exhaust yourself on his account, your grace.”

“It will break Pater Benjamin’s heart if we lose him,” she said. “So I will consider it tending to the Pater as well as to my husband.”

“Very good, mistress. As will we.”

 

Trial By Fire – Snippet 30

Trial By Fire – Snippet 30

“And again, I applaud their eagerness, but must deny their request.” The First Delegate gestured to the holographic displays lining the walls. “All available warcraft and ground assets will be needed upon arrival in the Sol system. The humans have developed their home planets extensively, whereas we may carry only limited forces with us. Consequently, we must expect that there will be far more missions to perform than ships to perform them. Drones and several observation craft will be sufficient to leave behind here.”

“And what of their shift-hull, the Prometheus?” First Voice’s tone was far less bellicose than that of his general, First Fist, Darzhee Kut noted.

Hu’urs Khraam’s dental plates clacked once. “Even the drones cannot catch Prometheus. But she needs to achieve twice our preacceleration velocity before she can shift. Therefore, though she started her run before we arrived, we will still be able to shift before her. However, our fleet must immediately accelerate to two point five gee constant to achieve this.”

“We are prepared.”

“Very good. We must do so within the hour. And by that time, all deployed ships and small craft will have returned to their respective carriers, so it will be imprudent to meet again as we do now. So this shall be the last roof-sharing between us before we arrive in the Sol system. Consequently, it is also our last opportunity to share any last thoughts on our plans for that campaign.”

First Voice hunched over the table as well as the immensity of his barrel-shaped ribcage would allow. “I am satisfied with the plans–for now. What I will think once we arrive and assess the human response, I cannot say. But what of the intelligence gleaned from their wreckage and from their base named The Pearl? Does it impel us to change our strategy?”

“We see no reason to think so. And our projection holds that the Prometheus plans to run to Earth or Ross 154.”

“And do we have new intelligence that indicates which warships might be at Ross 154?”

Hu’urs Khraam waved his claws loosely. “Nothing specific, but their signal logs indicate that we have correctly anticipated that their naval dispersal is to our advantage. Most of their other fleet assets are spread throughout the systems that they call the Green Mains, and have only lately been summoned to gather in the systems Ross 154 and Junction. But those assets cannot reach Earth if we hold Ross 154. So it is as we foresaw. By dividing our fleet here, we can send one half to attack the humans’ home system, and the other to take and hold Ross 154. In this way, any of the human warships that are in the Green Mains are cut off and cannot help the home cluster.”

“There is another naval base at Ross 154, is there not?” Graagkhruud sounded eager; the equilateral triangle of his three-nostrilled snout-end widened.

Hu’urs Khraam looked to Urzueth and bobbed. Urzueth explained. “There is a human naval station at Ross 154, and if major fleet elements are present, our forces shall launch a full assault upon them and the base. However, if the human assets have not yet gathered in strength, the fleet we dispatch to that system shall lie quiet and observe, monitoring communications and traffic.”

“We have come on this campaign to fight, not to watch.” Graagkhruud was ready to rise from his seat.

“And so we shall–at the most propitious time,” Hu’urs Khraam replied. “If additional human vessels arrive in Ross 154 and are unaware of our presence, our analysis of their standard operating procedures suggests they will approach their base to replenish their consumables, particularly their antimatter stocks. They are likely to anticipate fighting extended engagements in systems where we have eliminated or commandeered their antimatter production facilities. Consequently, we can intercept such ships after they collect near the base, and perhaps compel their surrender. At least, we could so obstruct their efforts to preaccelerate and shift, that word of Earth’s capitulation will arrive before they can leave.”

Graagkhruud’s reply was so loud that the room’s translator was almost drowned out. “This is cowardice.”

The smallest Hkh’Rkh in First Voice’s retinue leaned forward slowly. “It would allow us to minimize the damage to the humans.”

“You not only speak as the humans’ Advocate, Yaargraukh. You take their side.”

Darzhee Kut noticed the disdain with which First Fist uttered the title “Advocate,” which signified that Yaargraukh was the Hkh’Rkh who had been given the thankless job of not only providing expert assessment of the humans, but of representing their interests to First Voice. A necessity, since creatures which had no place in the Hkh’Rkh honor system had no official standing before any of its authority figures.

In response to First Fist’s almost sneering accusation, Yaargraukh inclined his head slightly. “By showing restraint now, First Fist, we may be made less unhappy should the Dornaani prevail and punish us for invading the human homeworld. Which is a flagrant violation of the Twenty-first Accord.”

“How readily you whine about defeat, Advocate. Our allies the Ktor will dine on the entrails of the increasingly irresolute Dornaani, and we shall rewrite their Accords to our own liking.”

“However,” interjected First Voice, “until that time, there is no harm in Urzueth’s observation that it may be more prudent to immobilize our enemy without loss to ourselves in Ross 154, than it is to destroy him. But”–he turned back to Hu’urs Khraam–”I nurse a concern that our post-battle intelligence has not been able to conclusively dismiss. What if, as we began our attack here, the humans already had ships at full preacceleration, waiting to carry warnings to Earth and its colonies?”

“First Voice of the First Family,” soothed Hu’urs Khraam, “this possibility is profoundly unlikely. What intelligence we were able to gather from the wreckage of the base they called The Pearl, and from those few very wrecks which still had intact mainframes, shows no evidence that there was a preaccelerated ship waiting in this system. And, from the moment our advance shift-cruiser arrived in-system, it was constantly watching for the terawatt-level spike of a shift-drive, which would be plainly detectable even out to the edges of the Kuiper belt.

“So, be calmed. This attack was a complete surprise. Our fleet had completed half its preacceleration before the Convocation concluded. Consequently, the humans had no time, let alone clear provocations, to task any of their shift carriers to be preaccelerated in watchful readiness to alert other systems. And, after having destroyed the majority of their best carriers here, we know just how few of their shift vessels remain unaccounted for.”

Darzhee Kut watched as Yaargraukh looked to First Voice for permission to speak, watched him lay his immense “hands” flat and calm upon the table when First Voice nodded. This one is prudent–even by our standards.

“Hu’urs Khraam, with respect for the excellence of your warships and the valor of ours, did you not find it unusual how quickly and easily the humans were overcome? And how many of them seemed to suffer catastrophic destruction as a result of their fusion reactors losing containment? I suspected, from the advance intelligence, that their ships would be more robust and would give us a sharper fight.”

“I agree,” Hu’urs Khraam answered, “but we cannot pause to question our good fortune overmuch. I am told that it would be most instructive if we had had time to conduct post-action analysis of the wreckage. But, as you say, the destruction was so complete, that it would be a lengthy task to locate and retrieve all the significant pieces, and even so, we might not learn anything of use. But most importantly, your suzerain First Voice and I harmonize fully on this one strategic principle: we must retain the initiative that we have seized with this victory. We will shift to the Sol system before the Prometheus has completed its preacceleration, and will thus arrive before Earth can be warned of our approach. That is the advantage we must not sacrifice. And once there, I predict we will have ample opportunity to survey all the human wreckage we might wish.”

Graagkhruud’s tongue flicked twice; he had noted and enjoyed Hu’urs’ concluding witticism.

Darzhee Kut bobbed for recognition, received it from Hu’urs Khraam. “Could a human fleet be waiting at Ross 154, preaccelerated and ready to shift here–to Barnard’s Star–as soon as our flotilla arrives there? If so, they would ‘get behind’ the force we are sending to wall up those warships that we think are out along their Green Mains.”

Hu’urs Khraam bobbed a slow, profound approval. “This is well-worried, Darzhee Kut. However, if they try such a trick, they will be in dire circumstances. If our flotilla arrives at Ross 154 and finds that a human fleet has just shifted out, our fleet will be able to preaccelerate and give chase in twenty days. However, once arriving here in Barnard’s Star, human ships from Ross 154, constrained to use frontier refueling, would probably require at least forty days–five of fueling and thirty-five of preacceleration–before they can get out-system. In that time, we would assault and seize Ross 154, refuel, preaccelerate and arrive back here almost three weeks before they could leave. Our high-speed drones would be able to pursue, maybe disable, some of them, and delay the rest. And even so, we would be ready to shift again just as soon–or before–they are.”

 

Paradigms Lost – Chapter 16

Paradigms Lost – Chapter 16

Chapter 16: The Only Thing He Has To Fear…

“How did you find me?”

Verne and I were comfortably seated in his study. He smiled slightly. “I have always known roughly where Carmichael lived, just as he always knew where I lived. Once I arrived in the general area, it was simple to sense your presence and follow it.”

“Thanks.”

“No need to thank me, Jason. It was my fault entirely that you were involved. I should have realized that once he found my household impenetrable, he would look for anyone outside that was connected to me.”

“Maybe you should, but so should I. Heck, you hadn’t had anyone ‘outside’ connected to you for so long that I’m not surprised you sorta forgot.”

“For far too long, but I thank you for your understanding.”

“You think he’ll keep his hands off from now on?”

Verne gave that cold smile again. “Oh, yes, I assure you. I was not concerned with the niceties of civilized behavior at that point, Jason. I made sure that he was, shall we say, thinking very clearly. He knows precisely what would happen to him if he ever crosses me again. And as you pointed out, the authorities won’t believe him even if he tells his story, nor would it do him much good if they did.”

“So how did your interview with Sky go?”

“Excellently well,” he replied, offering me a refill on the champagne, which I declined. “Your casual evaluation was, as far as it went, accurate. Mr. Hashima is a true artist, a dedicated one, and highly talented in several ways. I will have no qualms about supporting him fully. He is naturally a bit cautious — I do seem to him to be a bit too good to be true — but I am sure that we shall get past this minor difficulty.”

I sipped, appreciating the unique taste that a real champagne offers. “And the antiquities?”

Verne grinned, a warm smile that lit the room. “As usual, you and Morgan are right. I shall be donating, or selling, many of the items in question to people who will both appreciate them and be willing to place them on proper display. Some discreet inquiries have already elicited several interested responses, and I expect several archaeologists to visit in a few weeks in order to authenticate, insofar as is possible, the artifacts and prepare a preliminary assessment. I have already decided to send Akhenaten, at least, directly to Egypt. Let the Sun Pharaoh return to his home.” He raised his own red-glinting glass in salute. “My thanks, Jason, again. You have indeed found something that I shall enjoy doing, something which will contribute to the world as well. And you have given me your friendship, which I value perhaps even more.”

I managed, I think, to keep from blushing, although I do tend to do that when praised extravagantly. “It was my pleasure, really. Well, aside from being kidnapped, but that wasn’t completely in your control. I just hope he has bad dreams about you whenever he goes to sleep.”

“I assure you, your hope will be more than adequately fulfilled, Jason,” Verne said, with the expression of someone with a small secret.

“Why?”

“As I implied, I was quite capable of hearing his thoughts when I extorted certain promises from him, and discovered one quite serendipitous fact.” He paused for me to urge him to finish, and then said, “Many people are afraid of various things, real and otherwise.

“It turns out that Mr. Carmichael’s greatest and most secret fear… is vampires.”

I laughed out loud. “Well, I’ll drink to that!”

 

Polychrome – Chapter 04

Polychrome – Chapter 04

Chapter 4.

Focusing on what Polychrome was telling me wasn’t easy at first. I may not have had many lady companions, especially in the last few years, but I was very, very far from unaware of the attractions of the opposite sex; given my commonly-noted lack of maturity, perhaps overly much so in some ways. And there was no girl or woman I’d ever met who could compare to Polychrome.

I think I had managed a heroic feat in keeping my eyes fixed on hers most of the time we talked, and never letting them drop below the neckline, but the couple of times I’d followed her I had lacked such a clear focal point and I had studied that view much more intensely than was probably proper. And, of course, I have excellent peripheral vision, so even her front view was fairly clear – too much so, in some ways. O’Neill had captured much of Polychrome’s essence correctly in his pictures, or I’d never have recognized her – the ethereal delicacy of her basic build, the sunshine-golden hair that floated unconfined yet never in the way, her curiosity, her joy – but the real Polychrome was not the almost fainting hothouse flower that the pictures conveyed. Her stormy-violet eyes were merry and bright and intensely alive, her face beautiful but far stronger than O’Neill’s artwork had allowed, her figure much more… intriguing than I suspect had been permitted when those pictures were drawn.

It did not help at all that O’Neill’s drawings had been entirely accurate in depicting her gauzy, near-transparent, diaphanous clothing. It wasn’t – quite – transparent, but as most guys know, sometimes a tantalizing hint of a view is as riveting as a full exposure. Even her scent was maddeningly distracting, a combination of flowers and thunderstorms, and a nigh-subliminal song seemed to follow her, a phantom music that echoed her actions and moods.

It was also not helping that I was terribly aware of how poorly I compared to her or any men she must know – both in general appearance and in the semi-squalor of my bachelor existence. Only the oddities of the high-tech era managed to make my place look different than she might have expected. But she was talking and serious now, and with another supreme effort I drove all those thoughts to the background and focused every mental faculty on her problem. For whatever incredible reason, she has come here to find you. This is that impossible chance you were waiting for all your life. Don’t blow it.

The initial modus operandi of the unknown attackers was clearly familiar, and she confirmed it shortly. The immediate aftermath was grim. I nodded. Of the various so-called villains in most of the Oz books, these were the two who – once I allowed for the shifted imagery in the children’s versions – were undoubtedly the most formidable, intelligent, capable of long-term planning, and of nursing an intense grudge against all Oz. “Yeah, the ending of Lost Princess never rang true to me, even as a kid. I just couldn’t see Ugu suddenly reforming that way. He never showed any sign of really caring about other people, and I think that level of reforming takes a lot more than just a few weeks of thinking,” I said. Another thought struck me. “I’m betting they also got themselves a few more allies, among others that Ozma’s regime had stepped on.”

“You go fast, and well.” The quick smile she gave, lighting up the grave face, and the swift glissando of bright notes amid the muted, somber background strains sent another spurt of joy through my heart all out of proportion to the words. “But they reserved the vast majority of power for themselves, and none would be foolish enough to gainsay them.”

“Why didn’t they change Ozma to stone also?”

Her smile was suddenly more cynical. “Because Ozma is the true heart of Oz, granted that power through her birth line, in direct descent from the Faerie Queen Lurline. Turning her to stone would weaken the power of Oz overall, reduce the value of their prize. Imprisoning her in that mystic cage leaves her helpless, trapped in a dream that permits her only the vaguest awareness of the situation, her power sealed such that it can only be used by her captors – and even that indirectly, in that she cannot prevent them from making use of Oz’ power.”

“So she wasn’t actually in Lurline’s band to begin with? I was always confused about that – Baum’s tales didn’t leave it clear.”

Polychrome shook her head. “Ozma is a child from the point of view of any Faerie. It was required that there be both mortal and Faerie blood on the throne of Oz, so that both sides were represented at this, the core of all Faerie. She is descended of a line of rulers.” She smiled again. “And as I think you have already guessed, his early tales oft held more of truth in them than the latter tales.”

“It did strike me that way – no money? A perfect socialist state? And all the evil gone except in out-of-the-way benighted places?” I grinned, then grew serious. I think we’ve still been doing dancing. “But you still haven’t told me… where do I come in?”

Now I saw real worry on her face, and the sound was of foreboding horns far off in a darkened fog. “Well… you know I was following a prophecy. A man of your talents already guessed that the prophecy led to you.”

“Hard though that is to believe – and I can imagine your disappointment.”

She flushed, a lovely rose hue that if possible made her even more beautiful than she had been. “Well… I…”

“Don’t try to apologize, Polychrome. I would never have picked myself for hero material – as opposed to dreaming of it – and if you weren’t surprised and disappointed, well, you would have been seeing things I don’t in myself.”

She was silent for a moment, as though she wanted to protest but couldn’t think of any convincing way to do so. Then she sighed. “Yes. But as I have thought on the prophecy… or prophecies, for really it’s more than one, a string of several pieces more than a single epic of foretelling… I think I see that someone like you was exactly what the Little Bear was seeing.” She stood and turned away from me, gazing out of one of my windows into darkness. “And there isn’t any certainty, yet. Or, really, none until the ending. The prophecies make clear that we can fail. That, perhaps, we are far more likely to fail than to win through. And…” she hesitated.

I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer, but I asked, “…And? What is it?”

“…And the first chance to fail is… tonight.”

I had a feeling there was more to it, but that was bad enough. “Tonight?” I glanced around involuntarily, wondering if something was lurking in the shadows already. “No offense, but what the hell will I be able to do in the next few hours that will determine ultimate victory or defeat?”

She looked sincerely sorry, pained, a touch of mourning violins. “It’s… the prophecies, Erik. Now that I’ve found you, the next part has to be fulfilled, and as it was told me, that is:

To the Rainbow’s Daughter a beauty will be shown

                   Might and mortal glory as she has never known

          Set her feet to dancing, until they’ve skyward flown

                   Through the skies and homeward to stand before the

Throne.

I blinked. “So let me get this straight. I am supposed to show you beauty such as you have never known?” I could not keep total incredulity from my voice.

She bit her lip. “I … don’t see any other way to read that prophecy, Erik. And the following stanza was:

If no joy by dawning, if no dancing glory felt

                   Hope is gone now, shattered, lost

                             Like first snow’s fading melt.

          Return you to the palace and prepare you for the end

                   For mortal heart has withered

                             And Faerie has no friend.

“Oh. Okay. So in the next…” I checked my watch. “Um… lessee, it’s about nine, and the sun rises tomorrow at around 5:40, so in the next, oh, eight or nine hours all I have to do is show you some incredible beauty that sets you to dancing, or I’ve doomed all Faerie. No pressure.”

She gave a sympathetic giggle. “No, none at all.”

Holy Jesus. I was utterly appalled. How was it possible that someone like me could be key to this mystery? Even worse, how could it be that by not meeting this criterion I’d doom all Faerie? “… for mortal heart has withered, and Faerie has no friend”. The whole thing implied that there was in fact something special about me that would be difficult or impossible to duplicate – that is, finding another person that would fit those qualifications would take too long, or – worst case – there simply WASN’T anyone else with those qualifications.

One good thing about this new wrinkle was that I was finding it a lot easier to concentrate. “‘When a man knows he is to be hanged in the morning, it concentrates his mind wonderfully,’” I said, slightly misquoting Johnson. “Poly – you don’t mind, I hope, if I call you that?”

“Not at all. My friends mostly do.”

“Poly, that last verse… that means that there has to be something specifically about me that’s unique. Trivially that’s of course true – my genetic structure, exact personality, all that is going to be unique – but I find it hard to believe that it’s that which is so important. Do you know any more about what about me is supposed to be unusual?”

She looked as though she were having an internal debate, then nodded. “First… Erik, understand that there are things I know that I can only tell you at particular times. And there are things that I haven’t been told, and won’t be maybe ever, or only whenever I’m supposed to. My father is the only one who’s heard the whole of the prophecies of the Little Bear, and the way the prophecies work…” She sighed again. “Just telling the wrong person the wrong part could ruin the entire thing. I suppose it might end up making things better, but I would be very unwilling to risk it.”

I nodded. “Just as long as all of you also remember the old, old problem of prophecies biting people on the, er, nether regions because they took actions trying to either avoid the prophecy or make it come true too literally.”

“Oh, believe me, Erik, we are all too aware of that. It’s one of Father’s biggest worries, and the Little Bear can’t clarify things too much.” She followed me as I started sorting through books, looking for something that might give me an idea as to what kind of “beauty” I might show her that she wouldn’t already have seen. “But there are a few things I can tell you. The most important is that you’re supposed to be pure mortal, not more than the faintest trace of Faerie in you.”

I glanced at her. “That’s unusual? You’ve had people like Dorothy, Cap’n Bill, all of them there –”

“Most of them aren’t pure mortal. Most people who end up in Oz or other parts of Faerie have at least some trace of Faerie in them. Often quite a bit.”

“Really? You mean most of the mortals in the Oz books are…?”

“… part Faerie, though often very very small part. It’s one reason many of them didn’t have parents or were missing at least one parent. Such people often get… lost, between worlds, especially if something distracts them from their anchor in this world, or if they encounter some passing magic. The cyclone that picked up Dorothy on her first venture had some spirits playing in it – against the laws of Faerie, I’ll note! – and that brought her across.”

“So I’m supposed to be purely mundane, then.”

Poly smiled. “Don’t sound disappointed. There’s nothing wrong with it, and according to Father you should find it an advantage in many ways, though exactly what those advantages are he’s not discussing until you arrive.”

The thought of “arriving” at the palace of the Lord of Rainbows was still mindboggling. But that wasn’t going to happen if I couldn’t figure out what I could show her.

I was connected to the Internet, which gave me access to an awful lot of possibilities. Computers themselves were pretty impressive. But impressive wasn’t the key here. I shrugged. Nothing for it but to try to find something.

I showed her pictures of just about everything I could think of. I showed her television and modern sculptures and paintings of old masters, video games and clips of movies, parades and models, clothing old and new, mountains and jungles and ancient ruins.

A lot of things she found silly, quite a few were fascinating, others nothing special; after all, as I should have realized, in her past visits to the mortal world she’d probably seen every type of natural wonder WE had. It was the newer material that interested her at all – things invented since the era of the early Oz novels. But none of them really touched her sense of beauty.

There were a couple of moments where I thought there was something. She spent a fascinated moment looking at a picture of the Twin Towers, marveling at how huge it was, a chiming of wondrous bells echoing for an instant in her sourceless following themes. A picture of the gaudy Las Vegas strip held her attention for a few seconds. But nothing quite managed.

I knew I was missing something, something crucially important, not just to me or her, but everyone in the world, if my guess of the connection between Faerie and the mundane world was anything like the truth. There were moments I almost had it, but in desperately grasping for that clue it evaporated, disappeared like morning mist or like a dream that seemed so clear upon awakening, but as you try to remember the details they become less and less until you are left with nothing but a vague memory and disappointment.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. 12:55. “Poly… look, I know you don’t need much rest, but you’ve had a busy day, and you might as well get some. I’m the one who has to figure this out, and maybe I’ll do that better alone. I’ll come get you if I get any ideas.”

She gave me a grave look – mixed, I thought, with sympathy as well as concern – but nodded. I showed her to my one guest room (which was, fortunately, clean, as I rarely used it), then went back to my study.

Think, man. The prophecy makes it clear that there is something you could show her. You just have to find it.

The problem was that I was running out of ideas. Oh, there were things I could envision that might do the trick, but they simply weren’t available here. “Damn me for being such a geek.” I muttered. “It may have made me able to recognize her, but almost everything I have or do is on a damn computer or in a book. And there’s nothing around here more impressive than she’s already seen. I don’t have TIME!”

I started taking books off the shelf, flipping through them, but it was a measure of desperation. Books wouldn’t do it. Videos wouldn’t, either. There was something completely different about seeing something on even the best wide-screen and seeing it in person, but what I was missing I didn’t know. Walking quietly so as to not awaken Polychrome, I went through the house one room at a time, seeking some clue, something that would bring out that vague, half-formed idea and make it solid. Minutes passed. Tens of minutes. An hour. Two.

I wandered through the attic, seeing dusty packed boxes that I hadn’t opened in years, standing in the barely adequate gloom of the streetlight like an abandoned city under a dead moon. I turned, seeing the flash of the light against the darkness, then froze.

That’s it. Almost it. What am I…

The buildings. She’d looked at buildings. But no, that couldn’t be it. She’d seen Albany as we drove across the bridge on our way here. But… somehow, that was it. The Las Vegas Strip…

And suddenly I had it. The one chance I had, the one possibility in the real world that I had ignored, that she couldn’t have ever seen, the one thing that just might work. I was downstairs in a flash, throwing things into a backpack, checking my pockets – keychain with light, mini-laser pointer, Swiss Army Knife, wallet, couple of inhalers – thinking desperately fast, writing a note to leave on the table for whoever finally came in after me. After all, if this doesn’t work out I can always just come back this morning and go back to normal. No one else will read it if nothing happens. I looked up at the clock. 3:30.

I rapped gently on the door; it opened almost immediately. My memory had already started to fade the immediacy of her own beauty, and seeing her again made me momentarily speechless. “Yes, Erik?”

“Um.” I shook myself. “Come on, Polychrome. I have one possibility. You have to promise to just do what I say for the next few minutes. Will you trust me?”

She studied me for a minute, then gave me the smile that seemed to go straight through my heart. “Yes. I will.”

“Okay. Then I want you to close your eyes and keep them closed until I tell you to open them. I’m going to take you to the car, and we’re going somewhere. It’s not far away, but I want you to promise to keep your eyes closed until I say. Okay?”

“Understood, Erik.”

Taking her hand to lead her into the car was … almost too much. I was so charged with adrenalin, loss of sleep, hope and worry that just touching her sent a tingle up my arm. Her hand was silky as rose petals, yet I could feel a strength in it, the strength that had carried me over the heads of a crowd of people, delicacy combined with immortal power. Don’t lose focus!

We got to the car and I made sure she was properly buckled in, then put the car in gear. I knew where I was going, heading up Route 4, to the point where the bridge over I-90 gave one of the best vantage points. The road streamed by, black in the headlights, streetlights flicking regularly by.

“Still keep my eyes closed?” Polychrome asked.

“Still. Just a few more minutes.” Just ahead…

I pulled off to the side shortly before the bridge. “Hold on. I’ll get you out.”

The night air was cooler, and I knew that to her it would be cold, but either way it wouldn’t be long now. I led her to the best location, took a deep breath and gave a wordless prayer to whatever powers there might be. “Okay, Polychrome. Open your eyes.”

She opened her eyes… and gasped.

Before her was the city of Albany – but not the city as she’d seen it in the light of day, an impressive but somewhat dingy-grungy pile of masonry, buildings jumbled together, showing all the warts all too clearly in the sunlight. This was a magnificent blaze of light in the darkness, the mighty four hundred foot main tower of the South Mall alight with a thousand brilliant tiny squares of luminance, four smaller towers shining next to it, the curve of the Egg outlined in reflected glory, the rest of the city adding to it, standing against the surrounding night, a mighty beacon of edges and beams and hard-cut stone defying the power of darkness. In daylight it had been merely a city; with the cloak of night and the infinite brilliance of electricity, it became a symbol.

“Ohhh…” she sighed, eyes wide, harps and bells beginning to resound in the remotest distance. Slowly, hardly able to take her gaze from the city, she turned. “You… you built this?”

“Me? No, I only wish. But we did, my lady Polychrome. THAT is the power and the glory of my people, Poly, and if that will not suffice than there is nothing more I have to give.”

“Suffice?” she repeated, and I heard tears in her voice, saw a glitter in her eye, and a rising crescendo of trumpets and drums, a chorus of triumphal voices, resounded in her words. “Oh, Erik, it is beautiful!”

And, surrounded by the ethereal music, Polychrome began to dance.

 

The Savior – Snippet 12

The Savior – Snippet 12

2

Benjamin Jacobson didn’t fool himself. He might love his son, but he knew full well that he and his wife had given birth to a monster. Yet what Benjamin remembered, what he clung to, was that little boy of four or five who had seemed like any other child.

Benjamin had doted on him, made Edgar his heart’s darling, even, he had to admit, above his younger brother, Hammond, who suffered the misfortune of coming along in Edgar’s wake. Edgar’s older brother, Solon, Benjamin had to be harder on. Solon would be the inheritor of the Family’s interest. Benjamin could afford to pamper a second child, and he did. When Edgar began to have his fits of rage, Benjamin, at first, considered them amusing.

Then servants began to be hurt. A string of teaching masters began to resign. Then came Edgar’s teenage years, and Edgar discovered that he was rich and the world would indulge him in just about anything he cared to do. He began to look upon this indulgence as a right, and not, as Benjamin did, as earned by the hard work of keeping the grain flowing in a hungry land. But monster or not, Edgar was a Jacobson, and for Benjamin that was more important.

About the only thing Edgar had ever done to his credit was to marry the DeArmanville girl. She had proved herself time and again an asset to the family. She had an eye for figures, and she had become the manager of the household just by demonstrating her sheer competence at juggling tradesmen, servants, and family members. He had to admit she did so as well as his deceased wife ever had, probably better. The servants respected Mahaut. The grandchildren adored her. And even though she had the odd hobby of organizing that cursed women’s auxiliary in Hestinga, it usually only took her away from Lilleheim two or three days of the month. Lately, there had even been signs that she was giving up on this nonsense, in any case.

After she’d gotten the house in order, he’d discovered her eye for business. His business — the getting and selling of grain. Now she managed the household from an office at the granary. It was a secondary occupation that she seemed to handle with ease. At the granary, she’d moved from bookkeeper to advisor to decision maker. He’d put her in charge of House Jacobson Shipping. When it came to shipment sizes, the juggling of current and future orders against supply, timing when to sell, when to hold, Mahaut made the call.

He was beginning to suspect that she was not only better than his dear wife at running the house, she might be better than him at running the conglomerate of businesses up and down the River that was House Jacobson. He might have resented her if she were not so loyal.

In any case, she was an asset he had come to depend on.

There was one thing about Mahaut that greatly disappointed Benjamin, however. It was not that she had fallen in love with another man, the Dashian boy. Who could possibly blame her? It was not even that she had slept with the other man, and done so repeatedly. After her terrible wound, having children was out of the question. There would be no little Jacobson who did not look at all like his father.

What he could not forgive Mahaut for was that, with all her skills and cleverness, she had not taken Edgar in hand. She had not brought him around and made him behave as he should toward her and toward all of the family. More than anything else, he had approved the match in the hopes that she would do just that. She was a Regular, an army lieutenant’s daughter, after all. She’d grown up whacking at people with swords. Surely she ought to be able to bend a man like Edgar, essentially weak in spirit, to her will. Even put some backbone into him.

But she had not. Oh, once he beat her, she had made sure that the next time he tried that he would have to get the servants to hold her down or else she would kill him. Edgar had believed her. Benjamin had hoped that this might be the beginning of his son’s taming. But that was not to be.

Whatever love, whatever regard Mahaut had felt for Edgar had died early. She’d come to an unspoken agreement with her husband. He would be allowed to do as he wished, to live the life that he lived before he met her — it would be a good life on Jacobson barter chits. Now Edgar spent most of his time in the whorehouses of Garangipore, or gambling with the other First Family boys — most of that crowd now ten years younger than him — in the taverns of Hestinga.

All that Mahaut wanted in exchange was to be able to write love letters. That’s all she could do. The other man, the son of the district military commander, had taken himself to Lindron, to the Guardians Academy. Benjamin had to further admit that, even when Mahaut and her lover had been together, Mahaut had been discreet. She had looked after the Jacobson name.

But every time he saw a servant go out with a letter to deliver to the couriers of Hestinga, every time he saw a similar papyrus scroll come in and be delivered to Mahaut, it dug a little into his — well, not his soul. He’d long since given up believing in that foolishness.

His pride.

He knew that Edgar didn’t have any pride, but he, Benjamin, did.

If only she would take Edgar in hand, he thought as he walked home from his office at the granary. If only she would this time.

He’d heard that Edgar was back. Edgar had tried to come in unobserved, traveling off-road on his dont and coming down the uninhabited northeastern hill outside of the village. Uninhabited, but not unworked. There were bones to be scattered there — bones that could be made into soap. The fact that they were the bones of Redlanders made no difference. The Blaskoye were animals, not men. Nef the Soapman had been out collecting, and had seen Edgar descending the hill. Nef had reported this at the granary, as he should.

Nothing that happened in Lilleheim escaped Benjamin Jacobson’s attention. Nothing that mattered.

 

Trial By Fire – Snippet 29

Trial By Fire – Snippet 29

Chapter Fourteen

Arat Kur flagship Greatvein, Barnard’s Star

“With your return, the rocknest is made whole again, Darzhee Kut.”

Darzhee Kut made the customary response. “In returning to its harmonies, I live again.”

His rock-sibling Urzueth Ragh extended his sensory polyps in unrestrained joy. “We all feared to soon sing your dirge. But since your rescue, some have hummed haunting notes of the lay of your life among the humans. Was it as terrible as we feared?”

“It was not as I expected it to be. I was alone for days before–”

“So it is true. Your crew, Rzzekh and Iistrur, sing no more.”

“They sing no more. So when the humans came, it was a strange sensation.”

“Explicate.”

“I feared them, prepared for them–”

“Trapped them, I heard.”

“As our forebears did their prey and foes, yes. But I was also relieved when they arrived. I had been without association for so long.”

“I understand.”

“You do not. It became worse. When they took me prisoner, they set me off by myself.”

“They left you alone? Alone? For how long?”

“I do not know. Many hours.”

“And you can still harmonize? You are hewn from strong rock, Darzhee Kut.”

“This ability is a prerequisite for those of us in the Ee’ar caste who would explore new places or associations. In contacting other species, we might spend time in isolation.”

“I do not envy you the tunnel you dig, rock-sibling. Did they understand what they were doing to you?”

“No. The humans eventually apologized, but only for putting me in a large, high, empty room. This leads me to believe that they thought it was agoraphobia alone which caused my reaction.”

“So they did not understand how dangerous it was to isolate you?”

“How could they? As a species, they often seek solitude, and much prefer to shun enemies rather than have their company.”

“And they did not understand that it was their attempt to communicate–to associate–with you that enabled you to hear the music of life once again?”

“No, they did not see this, for they are not gregarious creatures. They would perceive our need for association as excessive, even crippling. They would never conceive of needing company so profoundly that one must seek out an adversary, rather than die into the silence of oneself alone.”

“They are strange creatures.”

“They are unlike us in this way.”

“As more of our rock-siblings are finding out, even now.”

“Sing me this new melody. Have we discovered more humans in this system?”

“No. Our advance flotilla is even now in the home-system of the humans, securing their largest gas giant for our refueling purposes. We shall follow presently.”

They had arrived at the narrow entry into the meeting module that had been crafted especially for roof-sharings with the Hkh’Rkh. The great predators could barely fit through the corridors of the Arat Kur vessels, and the Hkh’Rkh vessels were so crude and uncomfortable that the Arat Kur had found that they could not concentrate properly when aboard them. So this was the point of contact between their worlds of radically different physical–and cultural–shape.

“It is a vast and unpleasant place.” Urzueth ground his dental plates together as he tilted upward to glance at the ceiling that was too distant for his comfort, and too close for the Hkh’Rkhs’.

Darzhee rubbed his plates together for sake of harmonizing, but felt little of the other’s distress. After his hours in the human ship, he had grown accustomed to the wide spaces. “Let us take our places; the others will be here soon.”

As they slid into their belly-cupping couches, Urzueth stared at the tall and monstrous Hkh’Rkh chairs. “I would just as soon be elsewhere, rock-sibling.”

“I understand.”

“Then why am I here?”

“If it should come to pass that my voice is stilled by events, then as the First Delegate’s chief administrator, you must be ready to finish my song for me.”

Urzueth fretted his claws against each other with a series of rapid clicks. “These are random notes you emit, Darzhee. Now that you are back in the rocknest, what could happen to you?”

“Anything, rock-sibling. War is a sun-time that blinds whole races. Nothing is beyond possibility. And I think the humans will surprise us.”

“Why? Our technological advantage is not merely profound, but overwhelmingly decisive. And they were clearly not expecting an attack. They suffered a great defeat, in this system.”

“Yes, but they are better warriors.”

“When they are at very close ranges, perhaps–”

“No. It goes beyond that simple refrain with which we have reassured ourselves. We think the Hkh’Rkh great fighters because they are large and fierce, but the humans have a more dangerous trait.”

“Which is?”

“They are innovative. They can change their ideas very rapidly when pursuing a goal, if they must.”

“They are irresolute.”

“No. That is how you of the Hur caste see them, and possibly why you feel so confident embarking upon this war. But what you see in the humans as a lack of resolve is in fact the presence of immense flexibility. They may not be as daunting as the Hkh’Rkh, but they can adapt better to sudden changes–and war, my rock-sibling, is nothing but one sudden change after another.”

“Your melody grows strange and atonal, Darzhee Kut. Do not make me anxious.”

“I apologize, rock-sibling. But I learned much from my time with them. Including my long roof-sharing with their Spokesperson, earlier today.”

Urzueth whistled. “This is the one named Caine Riordan, yes? He is the one from the Convocation, the one with whom you had hoped to speak?”

“Yes. His arrival is a great good fortune for us.”

“True. Now we have an emissary to bear our demands to the human leaders.”

“He is far more than that.” Darzhee paused, decided to trust Urzueth. “He is also one who might understand why we broke the Accords. Understand and not judge.”

“This does not harmonize. We cannot reveal this. To humans least of all.”

“My thoughts are a counterpoint in major. We must reveal this truth to those with whom we would negotiate, and eventually, to all humans. The song I have been forbidden to sing is not known to them. They have forgotten those deeds, I tell you. They do not know who they were, those many millennia ago. And they are those creatures no longer.”

“Do not believe that last hopeful coda, rock-sibling,” Urzueth demurred. “Their perfidies were not the product of sophisticated misthinkings, but arose from their very nature, were built into their genetics by their particular journey of evolution. They cannot help but ever and again become what they truly are.”

“So we are nothing but our genetics? We are the puppets of our past, encoded as the chemicals within us?”

“Darzhee Kut, you are my rock-sibling and in almost all things, our harmonies make the highest roof stones ring. But in this we cannot find the same key.”

“But the safety of these two humans–”

“Fear not. As the First Delegate’s immediate assistant, I may assure you, that, even over the objections of the Hkh’Rkh, he has resolved that the two humans will be well and carefully treated.”

Darzhee kept his voice low. “He may find the Hkh’Rkh insistent that they be executed.”

“It will not happen. Hu’urs Khraam has committed to this.”

First Delegate Hu’urs Khraam, coming through the hatch from the Hkh’Rkh shuttle that had mated to the meeting module, stopped, ran his eyes across the two much younger Arat Kur, who dipped their chins low. “I hear ghost-songs–or I heard my name,” he fluted.

“Invoked in the speculation that it was you who approached, esteemed High First Delegate.”

Hu’urs Khraam ignored Urzueth and his rhetorical flourish, stared steadily at Darzhee Kut before turning to his rear and motioning for those behind him to enter the module.

The thumping treads of Hkh’Rkh became audible, drew closer. Two full seconds before his impressive bulk actually arrived in the module, the shadow of First Voice of the First Family stretched into it like a dark herald. He nodded–barely–to First Delegate Khraam, who, like him, had overall authority for the gathered forces of his species.

Hu’urs Khraam spread his claws wide and toward the ceiling. “Our operations in this system are at an end. The surviving human ships, those that kept their distance during the engagement of the fleets, are still fleeing out toward the Kuiper belt. Several highly autonomous drones remain in pursuit, but I am informed that they are unlikely to catch the human craft.”

“The humans are cowards.” The phlegm bubbled in First Fist Graagkhruud’s long slothlike snout as he said it, stimulating a low rumble of concurrence from the rest of First Voice’s hulking retinue.

“With respect, First Fist, the humans were prudent.” Hu’urs Khraam lowered his claws. “They attempted to draw us into pursuit, which would have deterred us from shifting to Earth as swiftly as we might. They understood the importance of buying more time for their shift-hull, the Prometheus, in the hope it might finish its preacceleration and reach Earth before we do. Only because we resolutely declined to take their bait, is that hope now groundless.”

Graagkhruud’s small round eyes protruded slightly from either side of his long, smooth, neck-tapering head. “Several of the masters of my ships once again request to remain behind, to give chase and harry them. And afterward, to keep a presence in this system.”

 

Paradigms Lost – Chapter 15

Paradigms Lost – Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Enter Freely and Of Your Own Will

“Ten o’clock,” Carmichael said. “Jeez, will you look at that stuff come down!”

Even as worried as I was, I had to admit it was an impressive storm. Gusts of gale-force winds battered the house, blue-white lightning shattered the night, torrents of rain came down so heavily that they obscured our sight of the front gate, even with all the lights of the estate on. An occasional rattling spatter showed that there was some hail as well.

“Man, did the weatherman ever screw up this one. Forecast said clear and calm all night. Boy, that put the crimp in some party plans, I can tell you.” Carmichael picked up the phone and dialed. “Yo, Morgan, put Verne on the line.” He listened and his brows came together. “What do you mean, ‘not available at the moment’? Listen, you just tell him he’s got two goddamn hours… Yeah, well, he damn well better be ‘planning to discuss it with me momentarily.’” He slammed the phone down. “I dunno, bud, maybe Domingo doesn’t give a crap about you.”

I glanced outside. Could it be…? “I wouldn’t bet on that if I were you.”

He looked out speculatively. “He couldn’t be that dumb, could he?” I heard him mutter. Then he pushed a button on his desk — looked like one of several, probably security — and said “Hey, Jay, look, I know it’s a dog’s night out, but pass the word to the boys — Domingo and his gang might try something on us tonight. Yeah, yeah, I know, they’d be morons to try, especially in this crap, but people do dumb things sometimes.”

He leaned back. “If he does try, I’ll make sure he gets to see you shot, you do know that, right?”

I looked back at him. A faint hope was rising, along with the shriek of the suddenly redoubled wind. “Yeah, I guess you will.”

The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Carmichael, Jimmy and Double-T don’t answer.”

His relaxed demeanor vanished. “What? Which post were they on?”

“Number one — the private road entrance.”

“The line down?”

“No sir, it’s ringing, they just aren’t answering.”

He glared at me, then flicked his gaze to the window, as did I. So we were both watching when it happened.

The huge gates were barely visible, distorted shapes through the wind-lashed storm; but even with that, there was no way to miss it when the twin iron barriers suddenly blew inward, torn from their hinges by some immense force.

“What the hell –” Carmichael stared.

Slowly, emerging from the howling maelstrom, a single human figure became visible. Dressed in black, some kind of cloak or cape streaming from its shoulders, it walked forward through the storm, seeming almost untouched by the tempest. I felt a chill of awe start down my spine, gooseflesh sprang out across my arms.

Battling their way through the gale, six men half-ran, half-staggered up to defensive positions. Stroboscopic flashes of light, accompanied by faint rattling noises, showed they were trying to cut the intruder down with a hail of bullets. Even in that storm, there was no way that six men with fully automatic weaponry could possibly miss their target, especially when it continued walking towards them, unhurried, no attempts to dodge or shield itself, just a measured pace towards the mansion’s front doors.

The figure twitched as gunfire hit, slowed its pace for a moment, was staggered backwards as all six concentrated their fire, a hail of bullets that could have stopped a bull elephant in its tracks. But the figure didn’t go down. I heard an incredulous curse from Carmichael.

The figure raised one arm, and the three men on that side were suddenly slapped aside, sent spinning through the air as though hit by a runaway train. The other arm lifted, the other three men flew away like rag dolls. The intruder came forward, into the light at the stairway that led up to the front door, and now there was no mistaking it.

Verne Domingo had come calling.

He glanced up, seemed to see us, even though the sheeting rain and flashing lightning should have made that impossible. The winds curled down, tore one of the trees up by the roots, and the massive bole smashed into the picture window, showering both of us with fragments of glass.

I felt Carmichael’s immense arm wrap around me and a gun press into my temple. Verne came into view, walking slowly up the tree that now formed a ramp to our room. He stopped just outside of the window. “Put the gun down, Carmichael,” he said, softly.

“You… whatever the hell you’re doing, you just cut it out, or you can scrape up Wood’s brains with a spatula!” Carmichael shouted.

I wondered why the heck Verne wasn’t doing something more. Then it clicked for me. “Come on inside, Verne,” I said. “We were just talking about you.”

With my invitation, I saw a deadly cold smile cross his face, one that showed sharper, whiter teeth than I’d seen before. “Why, thank you, Jason. I do believe I shall.”

The two thugs charged Verne; with a single backhanded blow he sent both of them tumbling across the floor, fetching up unconscious against the back wall.

Carmichael’s hand spasmed on the gun.

Nothing happened. I felt, rather than saw, him straining to pull a trigger that had become as immovable as a mountain. Verne continued towards me. “Put my friend down now, Carmichael,” he said, in that same dangerously soft tone.

Carmichael, completely unnerved, tried to break my neck. But he found that his arms wouldn’t cooperate. I squirmed, managed to extricate myself from his frozen grip, and backed away.

Now Verne allowed Carmichael to move. Deprived of me for a hostage, the huge man grabbed up the solid mahogany chair and swung it with all his might.

Made of wood, the chair was one of the few weapons he could’ve chosen that might have been able to hurt Verne. But to make it work, he also had to hit the ancient vampire, and Verne was quite aware of what he was doing.

One of the aristocratic hands came up, caught the chair and stopped it as easily as if it had been a pillow swung by a child, and the other whipped out and grasped Carmichael by the neck, lifting him from the ground with utterly negligible effort.

“You utter fool. Were you not warned to leave me and mine alone? I would have ignored you, Carmichael. I would have allowed you to live out your squalid little life without interference, if only you had the sense to let go. Now what shall I do? If I release you, doubtless you shall try something even more foolish, will you not?”

Purple in the face, Carmichael struggled with that grip, finding it as immovable as though cast in iron. He shook his head desperately.

“Oh? And should I trust you? The world would be better off with you dead. Certainly for daring to strike in such a cowardly fashion I should have you killed.”

“No, Verne.”

He looked at me. “You would have me spare him?”

“Sure. Killing him will force the cops to investigate. You haven’t killed anyone yet, have you?”

He shook his head. “No. Battered, unconscious, and so on, but none of his people are dead, as of now.”

“Then leave it. I think he’s got the point. It’s not like he’d be believed if he told this one, and he can’t afford the cops to come in anyway; even if they tied something to you, they’d also get stuff on him.”

Verne gave an elaborate shrug, done as smoothly as though he was not actually holding three hundred pounds of drug lord in one hand. “As you will, then. I, also, prefer not to kill, even such scum as this.” He let Carmichael drop. “But remember this well, Carmichael. I never wish to hear your name again. I do not ever want to know you exist again. If you, or anyone in your control or working for you in any way, interferes with my life or that of my friends again, I shall kill you… in such a manner that you will wish that you had killed yourself first. Believe me. I shall not warn you a third time. This is your final chance.”

Carmichael was ashen. “I gotcha. I won’t. You won’t ever hear from me again, Domingo, I promise.”

“Good.” Verne turned to me. “My apologies, Jason. It never even occurred to me that you might be in danger. Let me get you home.”

Outside, the storm was already fading away, as though it had never been.