Wine of the Gods 05: Spy Wars (8 page)

"No, ma'am, Information Team."

She relaxed a bit, but edged the girl off to interest her in something besides a grown man. Wise precaution. For all the One bragged of their superior genes, there were some dangerous combinations, genes that caused hyper-aggression, high sex drive and loosened moral restraints. Rape was almost not a crime among the One. Women beware. Ajha had seen enough growing up at Black Point to be glad that he lacked all three of the implicated genes. One copy of each, plus a hair growth gene and one of the multiple longevity genes would have lifted him to Withione status. He sniffed defensively, hell with them. He ran his hand through his hair, though.

It's not getting thin.

Yet.

He lagged the group a bit, with two other men. The family men tended to stay in between them and their wives and children. It was unspoken behavior he'd heard about, but seldom seen himself. Most of the women he knew were relatives, with strong magical abilities. He wasn't used to being around Multitude or Halfers, like this group.

Or maybe I just hadn't noticed, until I saw Action Teams in the field. Mother never visited men, even family, at their homes. They always came to her home. And I don't remember any men
ever
being invited without their wives, except Uncle Ajki and Grandfather.

After the tour he found a restaurant, watched the sunset from a high tower, and then sought out Black Point Guest house. The house computer recognized his implants and opened the door to him. A matronly Servaone looked up from the control center and blinked at him. "Ajha, isn't it? Goodness, I thought you'd died or something."

"Kaom? Hey, it's been years, I'm surprised you recognize me."
Or want to, the way Mother snubs you.

"Oh, you haven't changed much since I got fed up and left the Enclave. What do you need? A room? Dinner?"

"Just a room, tonight and tomorrow night. Laundry services."

She typed it into the house comp. "Here you go . . . Oh! Info Ajha! You're on a team? Have you gated?"

"Yeah. I'm on my third World, now. It's great."

Other people peeked out of offices, and Ajha quickly found himself telling a small audience about his experiences. It was a most satisfactory evening, and dragged on into morning before he got any sleep.

Two women gave him a private tour of the town the next day, and one lingered long enough for him to get up his nerve and invite her to his room.

He was yawning and suppressing a grin as he reported to the Auralia Nearside Embassy the next afternoon.

The return train was short,
bringing a skeleton crew of army officers and a sampling of the weaponry to demonstrate to the Amma. And a gate anchor for the southern city the Amma had designated as the training ground. Weapons for training the Amma's army would be shipped through the new gate.

31 March 3478
ce / Early Spring 1361 local

Gate Camp
, Asia, Comet Fall

Winter on an ice age world had been brutally cold.

The Army had closed the guard posts in the canyon, and then abandoned the camp at the base of the ramp when a chunk of glacier fell off the cliff and half buried it, killing three men.

Damien had caught the horses and moved them into a shelter, and put up some rather poor quality hay with the various equipment the army had around for ground clearing and expedient runoff control. Command had decided the horses were a useful training resource and imported grain based feed pellets for them. Damien figured in the spring he could turn them loose south of the Science Camp. Hopefully they'd go far enough south to survive. This winter though, they were unofficial mascots of the science camp. He himself had spent as much of the winter as possible on Earth, finding four pinto harness horses and working with them at his sister's place.

His sister had informed him that the native horses were genetically engineered. "Got to be Oner work. Extensive genetic engineering on all four of those samples you sent me, and I even managed to find some embryonic cells in two of the blood samples. The sires were chock full of genetic goodies. I used them all in building this embryo. Now I could never bring this foal to term here, but I damn well want to see the results. So I'm impregnating one of your mares, and off she goes to that World and you'd better get me lots of pictures before you terminate the experiment."

He'd winced a bit, but not argued. There were some things that you simply didn't mention to your superiors. Officers didn't like complications unless they interfered with the mission. A Frankenfoal wasn't mission critical. He could take some pictures and then cut the foal's throat.

Studying the combination of stolen Oner satellite data and the visitors' street level pictures of the cities were interesting. They were generally well planned cities, with a regular street grid in the central parts, tending to meander as they moved further out. The vids showed pretty typical street scenes for this tech level, with the exceptions of most of the cities being clean. Regular manure removal from the streets, piped in water and a sewage system. The people came in a rainbow of colors, but few African phenotypes and no Northern European type extreme paleness at all. Even the redheads had tanned skins. With grumbling, the lightest and darkest of the potential infiltrators were reassigned. Everyone left had brown hair, naturally tan skins and eyes of any color. He hitched up the native horses and taught everyone how to drive them. All three mares foaled, and he halter trained the babies. The soldiers at the Science Camp spoiled them rotten with attention.

Damien was a bit dismayed by the inclusion of a female lieutenant into the group. A science expert, who wanted to study the gravity and EM effects of the "magic." He had to admit that the information would be valuable. "How well do you think you'll fit in? Medieval societies tend to be brutal toward women."

"I think I'll fit very well. We got lots of marketplace chatter, we have kid's interactions with their parents. And each other. Apparently Navy verses Pirates and Witches verses Wizards are popular chase games. Lots of mock sword fights, some bow and arrow action."

Mike grinned. "You're going to love this place, Damien. You'll be taking Max, Carl and Tony for Bear Team. You'll be in charge of keeping us alive and fed. I'll be minding the techies, and locating the Oners. Allie here, Richie and Joe will be Tiger Team. That's it, for first insertion. We'll take everything we need for building a secure communications bunker."

Damien nodded. Everyone fit the local profile, not too pale, not too dark, all fairly tall. "I've got two teams of horses, the spooks are working on the wagons, said they'd be done in another week. Now, how are we going to be transported?"

1 May 3478ce /
Spring 1361 

Asia and Kingdom of the West

From the outside, the two wagons were near duplicates of Lefty and Dydit's wagon. On the inside they were electronic masterpieces, powered by solar cells on the top. They had small motors in the hub of each wheel
, but to fit in they had horses as well. Trained horses that fit the looks of the native work horses had been difficult to find. His final choices were horribly mismatched in color, but all had splashes of white here and there, or in Sombrero's case, nearly everywhere. Blackie was a pretty black and white, Blue was a blue roan, actually a slate grey salt-and-pepper on the body, and black at the edges, with big white socks and splashes of white on her belly. Macy was bay and white, with a black mane and a two toned tail. Sombrero's 'hat' was palomino, and Damien reminded himself to watch her for sunburn. All of them actually. Their skin lacked pigmentation under the white markings.

Damien would have preferred geldings, but hadn't been sure of their cultural acceptab
ility. He'd made damn sure the native horses were well away to the south before he'd brought the girls through. The Frankenfoal was bad enough. He didn't need Orange Swirl breeding the other mares.

He wasn't sure it was necessary for them to all be pintos, neither of the two riding mares had been a pinto, but better safe than sorry.

When the advancing summer heat finally melted back the ice and snow on the ramp, the trucks hauled them quickly through the canyon in the ice cap. Up the graceful bridge that crossed the river and turned into a ramp up the western canyon wall. They unloaded the trucks forty kilometers from the foot of the mountains. The horses hauled the wagons most of the way there the next day. A needless precaution. No one was there to see how normal they were. Damien looked up at the mountains. The rest of the trip was going to be slow. Last fall the two light infantry companies had camped near a stream to the south. The pictures had shown solid rock. A check of the aerial photographs showed a green spot a few miles north. That looked like a better camping spot for horses. It was a small lake, fed by a frosty cold stream from the mountains. Maybe ten acres of grass and low brush around it. He staked out the horses so they could graze a bit. They got out their authentic looking bedrolls, copied from Dydit and Lefty's, ate an authentic looking dinner and slept on the grass.

As soon as he stirred in the morning, the horses neighed, demanding breakfast. Amazing how the animals had so quickly figured out he was the one who fed them. He hefted a sack of grain and poured out the right amount for each of them. Horses had amazingly fragile digestive systems. They had carefully prepared feed that looked like straight oats, but contained everything the animals should need. He started a fire, and filled the coffee pot, then walked the horses down to drink, two at a time.

The lieutenant was up, and manning the equipment. He popped out for coffee, inhaling gratefully.

"Anything new, Mike?"

"Nyet. Just static, as usual. We're hiding our burst transmissions in it, and I suspect so are the Oners. Once we're up on top of those monsters we'll have a chance of catching theirs." He stared up at the mountain range. "Those horses pulling these rickety looking wagons . . . Yi!"

Tony started baco frying. They would have to start buying and eating native products soon. They had a supply of these substitutes, but he was looking forward to real food. Damien wandered back to the stream, poked around a bit, bent and picked up a mangled bit of metal. It glinted bright gold in the morning light.

Joe Hertz and Richie Covey joined him.

"Is that gold?" Joe reached down and pulled up a pyrite nodule. "Like this?" his voice rose in excitement.

"No, that's pyrite, fool's gold they call it." Damien held out the small nugget. "See the difference?"

"Oh man, I thought I was rich."

They poked around, took their boots off and wadded a bit deeper. They all found little bits of gold before their numb toes drove them back to the fire.

"I should get out my pan and work at it, but it may not be very valuable here, being common." Damien shrugged and wrinkled his nose at the bacos. Nasty stuff, looking like real meat. It drove him back to the stream until everyone was up and fed, then he harnessed the horses and they headed up the first incline.

The horses were sweating by the time the road leveled out. They turned a corner and found themselves facing uniformed men. The soldiers had obviously seen them coming, and nodded politely. "Gwan true. We've had truble wit zome bandits, combing out of t'dezert. You have any prublems?"

Damien shook his head and tried for Dydit's accent. "Didn't zee anyone."

The soldier nodded. "Most of t'gold trains go south now, so it's boring as hell heah. Good traveling." Not a single comment on their clothing. Excellent.

Damien clucked at his horses and they rolled past. He caught glimpses of other soldiers as they made the slow climb through the canyon. Perfect place to ambush invaders. The next invasion was going to have to fight their way through these mountains from the very start. He resisted the impulse to use the motors to give the horses some help and get them away from the soldiers faster.

They camped high in the mountains, and Mike took the tiger squad up to the top of the nearest peak for a few hours of listening to static. The second day they stopped before descending into a deep canyon. Bear squad grabbed gear and headed up the mountain. Damien drove the bear wagon, or rather, rode the brake two thirds of the way down the canyon. Allie followed him with the tiger wagon. All eight of them could drive now, but Damien and Allie were the acknowledged best. They all got out and took a good look at the bridge. It was even more impressive up close than in the recordings. Seamless. They made camp on the far side, where a shoulder of rock cut the wind. The third day they climbed out of the canyon, taking it in chunks and resting the horses frequently. On the last climb they used the motors as well, out of pity for the horses. Then they wound downhill and back out of the mountains to the first fortification their satellites had spotted. A mounted troop passed, giving them a frowning look over. The first soldier that came near spat on his wagon.

"Damn Travelers, you steal anything around here, we'll spit you like pigs and roast you for dinner."

Damien got his mouth shut and gulped a bit. But didn't stop the horses.

"Let's get off the main road."
Mike was in the back of the wagon with the fabric curtains closed. "The sats show a road to the south branching off in half a kilometer. There's a little village there, maybe we can buy some local produce, get a feel for the ordinary people."

Some of the other soldiers looked them over. Some curious, some with dislike. No one questioned their passage, though, and Damien swung the team up the rough road to the south. Dust rose from the dirt and graveled surface, and Damien looked around at the dry hills. "Looks a bit like a fire hazard, this time of year, doesn't it?"

Allie Torrance climbed out to sit beside him. "I can see hiding the women, well woman, while around soldiers, but surely this village has women in it. I'll try to talk to them."

The vid records had given them a good sampling of the local garb. They each had several versions packed away, and were wearing what seemed to be the standard for working class. In Allie's case, that meant a mid-calf cotton shift with a long sleeveless vest and a decorated cloth belt around it all. Plain leather shoes, no stockings, and something like boxers as underwear. Damien hoped the remotes had gotten that from laundry lines, not by looking up women's skirts.

They approached the village late in the afternoon. Damien stiffened as he saw the group of horsemen swerve to intercept them. "Could be trouble."

All
ie squinted. "No, it's a batch of kids."

Damien eyed them and relaxed. "Yeah. Exactly what we need."

The kids thundered to a dusty halt beside them. "Hi, are you going to put on a show?"

"Can you do that belly dance thing?"

"Why don't you wear brighter colors?"

Damien filed the comments and called out, "Do you know where we can camp?"

"The other side of town—where the cold stream crosses is best, it's a good stream, no sulfur."

"Ah, that's what I'm smelling." Allie said.

"It's from the hot springs." The blonde girl said. Three of the kids were obviously related, black haired with brown eyes so light they were nearly a golden yellow. Then two redheaded boys and the blonde girl. They all had tanned complexions; the over all impression was Southern European olive to Mexican or Amerind red-tan.

"Are you going to dance?" One of the black haired boys asked. "The last Travelers did, and played music, too."

"No, we're just passing through." Damien decided to jump straight in. "Do you know where I could sell some gold and buy some food?"

"Oh, Harry will buy the gold." The other black haired boy.

His sister nodded. "At the Tavern, Harry owns it. And Brock has food for sale. Unless you mean dinner, then Harry will feed you, too."

Then they all galloped off, presumably to pass all the information on to the other villagers.

Allie looked down at her clothes. "Brighter colors? Are we this World's equivalent of Gypsies?"

"Gypsies?"

"Yes. An interesting subculture. They didn't have permanent homes, they were nomadic, and sort of fit into the industrializing larger culture as roaming entertainers, to put it politely. Dancing, gambling, prostitution and theft, in actuality. They had a bad name, and were forcibly integrated with the rest of society after World War Seven."

"Yeah, with the Amerinds and the Hillbillies. I remember it from school, now that you've jogged my memory." Damien peeked behind the curtain. "If you've got anything colorful, you might want to put it on. Fit the stereotype a bit closer."

With the cavalcade of youngsters gone, the silence fell again. Damien looked around and spotted some women and more children out in the fields, exclusively blondes and redheads. Damien noted the dry goods and groceries store at this end of the village. There were some good looking veggies on display out front. There was something he guessed was a school up the first cross road. The second, and last cross road was at The Fire Mountain Inn. Presumably the tavern referred to, and he pulled in and halted in front. A young man popped out the door. "Hi, are you staying? Want the horses put up?"

"No, we're going to camp—a
kid told us you bought gold?"

"Oh sure, but not in huge amounts, for that you have to go to Karista. You just come in from over the mountains? I heard the strike was a big one."

Damien waffled a bit. "We just picked up a few little nuggets where we camped."

"Whoa! That easy? Umm, want to picket your horses first? Want help?"

"No, we'll do it. Be back in a bit." Damien picked up the reins.

"People sure are helpful. I guess it's a matter of living in the country, with no fast transportation for evil doers." Allie sniffed, then hopped down. "Something smells good. Permission to go talk to the cook, sir?"

Mike nodded. "Tread carefully."

By the time the horses were pegged out for grazing, and Mike told off Max and Carl for guard duty, Allie was chatting away with two women, predictably a blonde and a redhead, over some heavenly smelling roast beef.

Yet another young man produced scales and a printed sheet of prices. They drank some excellent but warm ale while he weighed and calculated, and handed over a large amount of coinage. Looking at the list of prices, Damien recognized the writing. It was even closer to Merican than the spoken dialect, and the numbers were the same except for the eight laying over like an infinity sign and what, by default must be a five looked, he decided like a back slanted F.

"Are you Veronian? You sound a bit foreign. Do you know our money? Ten pennies to a crown, ten crowns to a royal. How about some dinner on the house?"

After smelling that roast, and what had to be fresh bread, they were all easy to persuade. The taste lived up to their expectations.

Allie sampled the gravy with a concentrated look. "Julie and Fava said a lot of the women in the village trade off cooking, that it's become a bit of a contest."

Joe sighed with repletion, and still found room for peach pie. "Is this far enough? Can we integrate ourselves into this society?"

Mike snorted. "Unfortunately, no. We'll need to get to this Karista of theirs that they all assume must be where we're headed. I suspect we can find some good cooks there as well."

Brock's Dry Goods sold them milled oatmeal, honey in a big crock, fresh bell peppers and a couple of colorful shirts. The young man who was apparently the Brock who owned the store, was happy to chatter about how much things cost and how they sold in 'the City'. Damien parted with more money, so they carried a useful selection of trade goods down the road to the stream. Max was juggling to entertain the kids they'd met earlier. Carl muttered that they'd figured this would keep the kids from poking into the wagons. Allie refused to do any dancing, but when pressed managed some cartwheels and back flips.

"I used to be a pretty good gymnast." She brushed her hair back into order and watched the kids follow Max and Carl toward the Tavern.