Wine of the Gods 05: Spy Wars (23 page)

The astronomers were still certain a comet would come dangerously close in four years, with a seventy percent chance of it hitting the World.

6 Muharram1366yp / Early Winter 1364 Local

Fascia, Auralia

The reduced three man Info Team made their in-person report of military observations to the commander, and the magical report to Princess Rior. Both parties had presumably been getting their country-by-country rough reports in the mail. Which, while far from modern, did work reasonably well. All the data encoded in a microdot, in a simple cover letter that the Amma's intel department no doubt read before it was delivered.

But they made sure to cover everything again, in the final reports.

The Princess was once again communicating by hologram. Secured and encoded, the Info team used the machine in the Ambassador's conference room.

"Skip the military assessment, something has come up that . . . changes our strategy, in fact, it changes our goals. But I still want to know about the local gods."

Ajha bowed to the image. "The Goddess of Health and Fertility was said to have lived in Scoone, and accepted exile from the world when the people of Scoone rejected all magic. But she's also supposed to be the patron of the medical disciplines, and the, err, Apothecaries' Guild thinks she's still around and recently put her personal blessing on some new potions that are starting to circulate." Ajha shrugged. "We're looking into the potions, but the locals here haven't received many of them yet. They are manufactured in the Kingdom of the West."

"Th
e God of Luck is said to travel randomly, but if you meet him, he steers you to exactly what you need. Ba'al was once the God of Virtue. Something odd has happened to him, and he is apparently alive but not very well in Karista. His followers claim they just need a bit more energy to once again bring him to the brink of life, and my own experiments confirm that. But I don't think he's very . . . functional. The God of the Roads used to come when Travelers needed him, but apparently they just give lip service, these days. The God of Love manifests occasionally in his Temple in Cadent. I think he'd be the most vulnerable to attack, but we have no idea of when he'll actually show up. The God of War seems to show up in the Kingdom of the West more often than elsewhere. He's allied with their royal family, and stays with General Negue when he's in the City." Ajha hesitated.

"And the God of Peace we know all too well." The Princess said it for him

All assassination attempts by the Action Team had failed. Twice with fatal results for the Team. The Team had returned to The One to reintegrate with new members, and since returning here, had received orders to avoid Pax.

"None of the other listed Old Gods have been seen or heard of since comet fall. Only Peace and War have been seen recently." Ajha finished his report with a deep bow.

"Take care of any tasks the Ambassador or Commander need from you. Then g
o back to Karista, try to find a pattern in the God of War's movements, some weakness. Perhaps some people he cares about. The Action Team is there, now, still hunting the Earth's moles. You may use them to remove this so-called-god if the opportunity arises." The Princess paused. "And if it isn't just an apparition. If it is . . . think about how to unravel it, or trace it back to a locus of strong magicians. But I don't think these people, as a whole, are capable of creating something like that. Easier to believe in teleportation, or extremely good spells of invisibility. And study this purported Ba'al. And the new medical potions, perhaps we'll find the Goddess of Health keeping an eye on her new venture. I'll arrange for others to deal with the God of Love. And others can look for the appearance of the God of Chance in newspapers from all over. Perhaps his travels are not completely random. That leaves just the God of Travelers completely unaccounted for. Keep him in mind."

Ajha started to bow with the others, then straightened. "You mentioned a change of goals, Princess? What has come up?"

"The Four Year Comets. There is a very good chance that a small one will hit in four years, and a large one in twelve. This world may be doomed."

Speechless, t
he three of them bowed deeply to the hologram.

"You have four years, at the most, to satisfy my curiosity, and yours." Her hologram flicked off.

"Surely . . . not." Ajha followed the others blindly. A whole world full of people . . . just . . . gone? Dead?

Idre's
next stop was the Embassy mailroom. They crowded around a single public screen and found a message from Wink. Surgery had taken the pressure off his spine. He was much improved and he would eventually recover nearly completely. But, he was on desk duty until then, and so had tendered his resignation from the External Directorate, and taken a posting with the Interior Directorate. "Paris! Eat your hearts out. And remember to bathe regularly."

"Ha!" Idre elbowed Egto away from the screen. "As team leader, I'
ve got first go at my private mail. You lot can wait."

Egto
sniffed disdainfully. "Us lot can eat. Then we'll be back and kick you off so we can check ours."

If I have any.
Ajha sighed.
Is this why I feel for the natives? Insufficient roots of my own? Or . . . is it just that we're going about this all wrong?

And maybe it just doesn't matter any more.

What can we do about a comet? What
will
we do?

4 March
3481 / Winter 1364 local

Comet Fall and Earth

"I picked up a good intercept today. They must have had a problem with their antenna."

Damien served the pie around and sat down. Vani was eating with them regularly enough that they couldn't talk over dinner. But she'd headed for an early bed, and they'd all migrated back for seconds on pie.

Allie swallowed her first bite and continued. "They suggested that they repeat their attack on the Gate Camp. They said the attack th
ree years ago was successful—they'd left three native bodies behind to take the blame for the dead guards, and they'd grabbed a lot of paperwork, some of it very interesting."

"Ha! Told you there was something off."

Allie looked repressively at him. "They said that they'd shot down the latest Earth satellite, and would continue to keep the Karista spy ring out of touch with their command structure while they were being hunted."

"Damn." Mike drummed his fingers on the table. "So much for breaking radio silence
, to warn them their might be another attack on the Gate Camp. Damien, if you headed east, got over the pass as soon as it was open, how soon could you get to Gate Camp?"

"I'd have to stick to horse speed through the pass. But if I left now the pass would just about be open when I got there. Once I was over, I could ditch the horses and use the electric motors on the wagons, should get enough sun to charge the batteries . . . I could get there in seventy, eighty days. And I could take Richie with me, get him to better medical treatment."

"And deliver the warning, our samples, recordings and the books Allie's been buying." Mike nodded. "Do it."

It was pretty straight
forward, load food, feed, clothing, hundreds of DNA samples, and chips of recordings. And boxes of books. He stripped the batteries and power panels off the other wagon, so they could charge one set of batteries while the original set ran the motors. He loaded Richie last. They'd been trying motion therapy, and retraining. They'd started out treating him like a baby. Fortunately his bladder and bowel training had reasserted themselves quickly. Six months later, it seemed more as if he needed to be reminded than that he'd completely forgotten. Damien figured Richie was about kindergarten level, now. He used the slow part of the trip to continue Richie's retraining. He talked to him, sang to him, encouraged him to sing along. Let him brush the horses. Sombrero and Frosty were patient, and Richie was big enough to do the obvious things without getting stepped on.

He knew the society now, and once through the civilized area, spent an evening painting the wagon gaudy colors. For the approach to the fort he put on his brightest shirt and a handkerchief over his hair like an ancient pirate, and they frowned and warned him off and didn't suspect a thing. Richie waved out the back and sang like a drunkard. Damien cranked up the motors on all the inclines and they made good speed through the mountains. Once on the far side, it was time to really push. He gave the mares a last good feed and shooed them off to the grazing along the mountain front steam and lake. On motors, on the flat, the wagon could make twenty kilometers an hour, running on daylight, and the batteries let him keep going long into the northern twilight. April was still cold up here, but the hot zone in the canyon balanced that. At the wagon's best speed it still took him forty days to get through the canyon.

Two days later he was in Gate Camp.

The Colonel skimmed the report, and shrugged. "It hardly matters, Sergeant. The only way we're going to get rid of the One is to fight them openly. They may be better than us when it comes to sneaking about, but in open warfare we'll roll right over them.

Damien took Richie through the gate and turned him over to the docs. He stole a brief trip home, to argue with his sister, give her more DNA samples, fool with some of her current horses, and remember how to drive a car. He talked her into analyzing a sample of Havwee Temple water.

He missed Karista. Loaded up with the surprisingly few things he'd really missed there, as well as buying a wide selection of manufactured and cut gemstones.
Magnets. Little bitty but strong permanent magnets.

"Your magic potion was a nanoscale factory, with von neumann assemblers in it. I incinerated it, then nuked the ashes. That sort of thing is very dangerous. I can't believe it's just floating around a medieval society."

"It's a cure-all. And a powerful aphrodisiac. You should have tried it." Damien grinned at her expression.

Helen pressed a small, very cold, case on him. "Since you're having so much fun over there. I made some new embryos. No spots, some of the top endurance racing Arabian bloodlines, and some damn good thoroughbreds too, all with those engineered genes. In case you get tired of those cart horses. The case uses photovoltaics for power, should be good for twenty years if you don't open it.
Half that, otherwise." Damien doubted he'd use them, but figured getting them out of his sister's hands counted for something. He looked over the list of contents and was relieved to see just eight. "Thank you, I was expecting a couple hundred."

"Oh, I've got
thousands. I needed practice getting genes to go where I wanted them to go. But I added some new engineered gene segments from a couple of your samples just last week to a couple of these. I'm getting quite good at it."

"You'll get into trouble if someone catches you at it."

"Not so long as I don't get tempted to see what the foals would be like. You're my safety valve."

"Right. It'll be a while before I use these, but I'll try to send pictures when I do."

"Thank you. I wouldn't have half the samples I do if not for you. You need to get back home more often so I can pick on you to show my appreciation."

He chuckled. "Oh, admit it. What you really want is for me to get to a new World every other year."

"I don't know, this one has thrown more surprises at me than all the rest altogether. Although most of the samples you've brought me are straight domestic animals, split from mostly North American breeds circa the twenty-second century."

Damien paused, then nodded. "Early Diaspora. I'm becoming a believer."

"The late twenty-first century was the height of genetic experimentation. Lucky sods. But there are some mixtures with a wild horse species as well." Helen kissed him on the cheek in fond farewell, and made sure he didn't forget the cryocase.

Back at the Nowhereistan he tucked the cold case and his other acquisitions in a locker to be taken across on the next convoy, and reported back to the current commander of the platoon, Colonel Kellerman.

Kellerman sent him off to talk to the Intel techs. They had analyzed all the human samples they'd collected.

"Two hundred thirty-four samples. Two hundred thirty-three with at least a single added or altered gene
, many with groupings of completely artificial genes inserted at the ends of some of the chromosomes. The Dallas Dimensional hypothesis, that these people are the descendants of genetic experiments exiled thousands of years ago seems to be holding up. Analysis of their ordinary genes puts them across a spectrum of phenotypes, with widespread Amerindian genes. That is to say, of fairly common North American mixed ancestry. Which also fits with the history of genetic engineering. North America was one of the worst offenders. Russian engineering was exclusively military and athletic, highly controlled. The Chinese effort was small. The Israeli effort was aimed at Tay-Sacs, and a few other repairs. In short, we have no contra-indications. We've even got a theory that the One were part of the Early Diaspora as well, but where these guys—we're calling the world Comet Fall—landed on an Empty World, the Oners hit a populated one, and that's why they're a minority." The Intel Lieutenant looked fondly down at his report. It had probably gotten him a lot of face time with superior officers.

"So your orders are going to be slightly changed. First. Find out what the Oners want, and get it yourself. If you c
an also keep them from getting it, all the better. They're talking about finding concentrations of magic, schools of magic. I wouldn't call it magic, but ESP, clairvoyance and such slightly enhanced by these odd genes can't be ruled out. Second. Keep an ear on the ground for what the Oners are doing in Fascia. Make more trips down there, if possible. We've moved a boat, in pieces, through the Gate. So we'll have roving infiltrators as well as you lot.

"Now, as to a possible recall. We're discussing the advantages of long term moles. You've made an excellent fit there. We're looking for volunteers, both from your group and new people we'll be sending, who could probably best fit in if they started out as relatives of your group. Ask your group to think about it, they'll need to make a decision in two years, maximum.

"As you know, there is the matter of the possible comet impact in four years. We don't think the Oners will ignore it. So this is an opportunity to see their missiles in action. To find out about at least one sort of warhead that they have. So we'll have a tech team in for that time frame. Your monitoring of their communications may warn us if they become aware of what we are doing. Which is to say, we'd like some you to stay at least four more years."

He nodded and was handed off to the man who would be the captain of the ship they had cut up to fit through the Gate.

"Assuming they can finally get it back together and it doesn't sink right off. We've had the most abominable luck—I swear the natives sneak in and hide parts. It's taking forever." Abel Furnier paced worriedly around his sectioned command. "Tell me about the port procedures in this Karista of yours."

Damien filled him in, sketched the wharves, gave him the name of the harbor master, and the masters of the various sections, and how to find the spies' house. And warned him about using any electronics when in port.

He checked the hospital, and found Richie involved in the same sort of retraining they'd been trying. His mother was there, helping. "They say those people destroyed parts of his memory, but everything still functions, so we'll be taking him home in a few more weeks to, well, raise him all over again. They said it would go faster, and the academic knowledge may be there, and he should relearn it quickly." She smiled wryly. "Quickly, compared to the original eighteen years."

Then Damien crossed back to Comet Fall, loaded his trunk on the wagon, and drove back across the top of the World.

He camped at the usual little lake, and to his considerable surprise, his Sombrero and Frosty turned up, begging for oats in the morning. "Is this place so barren there aren't even wild horses to run off with?" He fussed happily over them. He'd figured he'd have to walk across the mountains and buy a new team—he didn't dare drive the wagon any further without horses. Now he could head straight back to Karista.

He eyed the mares thoughtfully. Two mares, two embryos. Get his sister some pics of her foals before they shut down the infiltration? He really ought to be a bit more sensible than that. Find out if he was going to be here for years, first.

***

Damien was home by the Summer Solstice. Home. How odd that this cramped house and his little room seemed so welcoming.

He handed out letters and packages like Christmas, and spread the news.

"The boat will be bringing all correspondence, from now on. Hopefully the Oners won't find a handy pirate to sink it. Intel has decided that the
natives are the descendants of genetic experiments, possibly related to the origins of the One. Intel is contemplating long term moles, and wants us to think deeply about volunteering. At a minimum we will be here long enough to get the moles established here."

Damien put the cold case and its
remaining embryos where it would get enough light to function, then put it out of his mind and got back to hauling freight. Mike had run two wagons all spring, with both Vani and Code doing some driving.

"We caught a report, from here to there, describing the horses as one white, one dark grey. So we kept the dark one
s together and the light ones ditto. There's been no sign of any interest in obviously pinto horses."

"Glad to hear it."