Chapter 14

Teresa Johnson was not having a good day. She'd already had three scam artists try to weasel out of pre-paying for gasoline in her first two hours on-shift, and now she had a bad feeling about the fellow who'd just walked in the door. You developed a sense for these things working at any neighborhood mini-mart if the neighborhood was bad, and she'd been there long enough to recognize a thug when she saw one. He'd walked in the door, and looked around – not to find what he was looking for, but to see if there were any other patrons. She knew the difference. Besides, he was wearing a hoodie on a warm day.

He waited until the car at the pumps was finished and had pulled away before he came up to her counter and drew the pistol out of his waistband. “Gimme the money.” She opened the register drawer and set it on the counter in front of him. He looked at it, the expression on his face almost befuddled as he tried counting it up in his head. It had been a slow day, and even here next to the Projects most people paid with plastic rather than cash these days. “Thass all you got?”

“That's it. Sorry.”

“Open up the safe!”

“Can't. I don't have the key to it.”

He backhanded her across the face, sending her to her knees. “Don't gimme that s***, b****! Open the safe!”

The door of the shop opened quietly as another customer entered, and neither the criminal nor his victim noticed. Both of them were surprised by the child's voice that interrupted him as he raised his hand for a second strike. “Hey! You're not fuppoffed to hit girlf!”

Teresa recognized the voice. The boy was one of the more human of the Changelings, about seven years old or so she figured, with skin that resembled rhinoceros hide more than anything else she could think of and a slight speech impediment probably caused by the fangs jutting up from his lower jaw. His mother was a regular at the store. “Run!” she shouted as she dragged herself back to her feet.

The robber just laughed. “Get lost, ya freak kid. Or I'll have to hurt you and your mama, too.”

The boy didn't listen. She could hear him stomping up to confront the thug, ignoring his mother's panicked cry of “Jeffy!” in the background. He glared up at the man. “Nobody hurtf my mama.”

The pistol came up. “You don't get out of here, you dumb kid, and I'll do more than hurt--” Three adults stared in shock as the boy slapped his hand aside. The pistol went off, the bullet puncturing the glass door of one of the soda coolers before the pistol clattered to the floor twenty feet away and slid under a shelf full of potato chips in convenient small and overpriced bags. The thug was the first to recover, lashing out with his left fist - he seemed to be having trouble with his right hand - and landing a solid blow to the boy's face.

The boy didn't go down. In fact, he only grunted and his head barely moved. “Mama, he hit me firtht. Can I hit him back -hard-?”

Teresa could see the wheels turning in his mother's head, and the slow smile that crept onto her face. “You can hit him as hard as you want, Jeffy. This time.”

* * * *

“... and on the biological side of the Change, Mr. President, we have the incident in Chicago. A four-year-old modified human disarmed and badly injured an armed adult when he and his mother walked in on a robbery in progress at their local Circle-K. Gave us a baseline estimate on a few things we weren't willing to test in a lab situation. According to the witnesses, he shrugged off a punch by the perp after knocking his pistol out of his hand and across the store, and then put him in the hospital with a half-dozen punches of his own.”

“Impressive. Modified human? Not a changeling?”

“Type G, sir. Gray-skinned, rhino-hide, and fangs. Informally, trolls. He took offense at the convenience store clerk being pistol-whipped and even more at the perp threatening his mother. Apparently he's been taught that you don't hit girls.”

“Good for him. I think I should send him a letter of congratulations. Did he say anything else about why he did it?”

Lowe shrugged. “Hard to guess motivations with a four year old. But he did tell the reporters that he wanted to be a policeman when he grows up. Couldn't tell you if that was before or after the fact.”

“I guess not, but it's a good sign. Make a note – have the service recruiting officers keep an eye on the young trolls, if they're not already.”

* * * *

The eagle-morph and his companions were met in the outer lobby by a bear wearing the uniform of a naval officer, but with a pair of crossed wands on the epaulet where the star would normally be. He saluted the eagle and nodded to the others. “Captain MacDowell? I'm Lieutenant Kwitowski. Welcome to Los Alamos.”


“Thank you. Are you going to be part of the team, or are you just here as a guide?”

“Team.” He raised the antennae that had been inconspicuously flat and wiggled them. “These things are sensitive to mana. The Navy made me an officer and put me on permanent loan to Forge when I got 'em and we figured out what they could do. Now, who is who? I didn't get photos with the list they sent us.”

MacDowell introduced the others. “Alicia Waters, David Chen, and Dr. Deirdre O'Malley. All four of us had backgrounds in communications engineering before the Event and then developed some ability to manipulate mana, so Stardancer put us on the project to reproduce radiotelephone communications using magic instead of electronics. Project Mirror is doing well enough so far that she thinks we can afford to branch out. We brought one of the Mark II's with us; as soon as we can get it unloaded and checked out, we should be able to start testing how well it connects with the units back at Livermore.”

“And how to get it to connect with the one you intend, I'm told?”

The eagle nodded. “So far they're more like broadcast radios then phones. Getting them to connect to just one is tricky. Getting them to connect to the -right- one is trickier.”

Kwitowski grinned. “You should get along with Forge, then. I have it on very good authority that thirty years or so back, he was involved in the introduction of pagers and cell phones, so he's done this once already. If he can't help you figure it out, nobody can. If you'll follow me...?”

* * * *

Forge, while not the size of Wei Lung or even Frost, was easily the largest of the three Americans who had transformed to dragons during the Event. Ten meters from nose to the tip of his spaded tail and with a wingspan half again as much, he normally dominated any face-to-face gathering by sheer size. His fellow engineers weren't really intimidated, though. They had different standards. “Welcome to Los Alamos, gentlemen, ladies. Stardancer says you've got a very interesting project going.”

“We t'ink so.” Waters had both the appearance and the accent of Creole Louisiana, cafe-au-lait skin and straight black hair. “Too much of de modern world depends on communications. We don' have a cell phone network yet, but if we can get sometin' at least as capable as a telegraph up an' runnin' before de phones die on us, it'll help.”

The dragon nodded from where he was inspecting the PACS Mark II with occasional assistance from Kwitowski. “Very true.” He straightened his neck after a little while and nodded. “Interesting. And technically portable, since it is self-powered. Although this initial device is only cell-phone-level portable if you were trying to make it to my scale.”

MacDowell shrugged. “The first radios were fairly bulky devices, as well. We're figuring out how to make them work first, then we'll see about miniaturizing.”

“And you've hit a roadblock in trying to duplicate the ability of the master-level spells to target a specific recipient, I understand?”

O'Malley was stereotypically Irish, red-haired and green-eyed. “Unfortunately correct. We haven't been able to duplicate the switchboard function. We can set them up as hardwired unit-to-unit links, we can have an actual mage direct the call using the standard spell, or we can set them as broadcast units. However, using them as broadcast means that -all- of them pick it up in that case, and there is no way to be sure that someone isn't listening in that you'd rather not have in the circuit.”

The dragon nodded. “And you get interference if more than one person tries to broadcast at the same time, I suspect.”

“Not so much interference as pre-emption. The closest broadcast comes through.”

“Closest, or most powerful?”

Chen frowned. “It's always been the closest, but... the units are pretty much identical. That needs to be tested, I suspect. We're not even sure if it's an inverse-square relationship or not.”

Kwitowski waggled his antennae. “Then let's find out.”

The dragon nodded. “Agreed. First thing to do is build a more powerful unit, and see whether distance or power is the deciding factor. As for how to control them... we do not yet have the equivalent of computer chips for mana, so generating a mana-based version of the HL7 won't work easily. But perhaps we can come up with a magical version of the old-style mechanical switchboards. Brute force pulse-counting, not electronic logic gates.”

* * * *

October 10, 2017 / 20 MuHarram 1439

Sayeed smiled as the call to prayer echoed across the town of Al Suwar. Ever since bin Salaam had been transformed and stoned for his apostasy, that style of fanaticism had been far less evident. The new leaders had been more cautious once they emerged, and there were even some voices raised in favor of making an accommodation with the forces of Bashir Assad. Rumor had it that when Tariq al-Din denounced the idea, he had himself become a pig. Certainly no one had seen him in weeks. He got up and made his way to the mosque to join in the prayers, nodding in greetings to his friends and neighbors.

When the transformations had swept across the Leadership Council, it had nearly caused a civil war inside ISIL itself, and thousands of people fled. Sayeed had taken the opportunity to get his sister and her family out of Al Raqqah and back to their home town. His fellow townsfolk remembered that his father had been a respected voice before he ran afoul of the Islamic State, and now that their fanatics were discredited, many of the townsfolk had transferred that respect to him. As a result, he was the de facto head of the Al Suwar militia, and his prayers today gave thanks to Allah that he had had his revenge – and recovered his family's property in the bargain. Bin Salaam had no further need for his father's house, after all.

Mazin came to find him as the prayers ended. “There is gunfire in the north-east, Sayeed. Still far beyond our farms, but...”

“But it may not stay there. The Kurds may be raiding, or it may be the Ba'athists trying to reassert their authority.”

Mazin shrugged. “Or it may be that there has been another falling out among the leaders of the New Caliphate, Sayeed.”

“It may be that as well, but we can hope not. At least if it is one of the others, we can tell where our own loyalties should lie.” He stared upriver towards the provincial border with self-proclaimed Kurdistan. “Call the full militia. We need to be ready, whatever it is. And I will want my squad to take... four of the armed trucks up the road to scout out what this might be.”

Mazin saluted. “It shall be done, Sayeed.”

* * * *

Sayeed's trucks were what the West called 'technicals'; standard pickups with a machine gun mounted in the bed. They were only effective against poorly trained militia and unarmed civilians, but as scouts they were quite useful, in a tradition dating back to the Long Range Desert Group of the Second World War – and to horse cavalry long before them.

Once his crews had reported in, he sketched out his intentions. “Rifle fire has been reported from upriver. We are going to go upstream, two of us on each bank, as far as the al-Haksah border and see if there is a raiding party. We advance at the same speed, alternating cover and advance, and stay in sight of each other. Whoever finds something first, signal with the flags. White for parley, green for civilians, red for a raid.”

The Khabour was a tributary of the Euphrates, and while it was not a large river, it was still treacherous to cross, particularly with vehicles – and once you left Al Suwar, there was not another bridge across it until you reached the Kurdish town of Ash Shaddadi sixty kilometers upstream. The main highway was on the river's western side, but another road paralleled the main highway on the eastern bank. The mission was completely uneventful until they reached the edge of the province. The official provincial border was still the boundary between the Kurdish and Sunni factions, and several of the Kurds were waiting at the milepost that still stood there. <Though they might have pulled back when they heard us coming. Still, they look like they want to talk.> He popped the door open and stepped out of the cab. “Cover me, Achmed. But don't shoot unless they shoot at us first.” The gunner nodded and went back to observing the Kurds.

Sayeed walked forward, his rifle slung on his back, and then smiled as he recognized their leader. They were not friends, precisely, but the older man was level-headed and Sayeed respected his willingness to avoid stirring things up. “Peace be unto you this day, Ishmael. What brings you this far south?”

The older man nodded, and returned the greeting. “And peace be unto you as well, Sayeed. We hunt one of the demons of the sands. A thing partly in the guise of a woman and partly that of a snake. It raided into Jina last night. She has been stealing livestock along the Khabour for a week now, and I fear it has now crossed into your territory.”

“This is unpleasant tidings, Ishmael. You are sure it has come this way?”

“I am. Come and see the track it makes for yourself.” He led the way off the road, away from the river and into the desert. A hundred yards into the sand was an undulating trail, with sand piled up at the edges where the body of a snake had pushed against it. But the snake that made this trail was eaily a yard across.

“I think we would have forgiven you had you crossed into our territory in pursuit of such a thing, Ishmael.”

The older man nodded. “In truth, we did so, Sayeed. But the trail vanishes not much farther on, and when we heard your trucks, I judged it best to wait for you here. If we both watch for it, perhaps we can at least drive it away if killing it proves impossible.”

“As Allah wills it, let it be so. What can you tell me about it?”

“You can see the size. It is fifty feet long, but instead of the head of a snake, it has the upper body and head of a woman, though those who have seen it best say it is still scaly. It can hold a glamour around itself to appear as a normal woman, but the snake, though hidden, can be found by touch if you suspect that it is the creature.”

“Is it poisonous, like a snake?”

Ishmael frowned. “I do not know. It has bitten people, and the punctures look like those of an enormous viper, but they are not poisoned. Perhaps it is a sleeping poison, for guards have been found unconscious with such bites, though they are unharmed when they awaken.”

Sayeed nodded. “Thank you for this knowledge, Ishmael. It is indeed wise that we should cooperate to rid ourselves of such a monster.”

* * * *

Lowe watched as the seven appeared on her screens one by one. This was the third meeting that she had tapped into, and she was still trying to figure out who the Russian was. The rest of them were major figures in the financial world in one way or another, but the Russian was an unknown. <It would be easier if they called him by name once in a while. But they have good signals discipline. He doesn't seem to be government or a financier. Maybe organized crime?> She chuckled to herself as Prince Hassan finally showed up. <He's always the last one, and it's -late- in the day in his time zone. Some people just can't manage to be punctual.>

The discussions were interesting, but mostly in a tantalizing way. They rarely went into specifics, and even the generalities primarily involved legitimate, or at least semi-legitimate, agreements and arrangements. The only actionable offense was de Revol's espionage, and even that wasn't a crime under French law, after all.

She perked her ears as the Frenchman's project was brought to the table. “My agent has procured a copy of their latest project assessment document. It mentions three types of Immortals. The mythic gods appear to have been the first type, immortality dependent on the existence of magic. And it says that one of the near-human Changeling types shares this form. So we should be able to obtain specimens of this sort with little difficulty.”

Jian Chao nodded. “Excellent. This would be the elven ones, correct?”

“It is listed as type E, so I would assume so, yes. The second is that of the dragons and shape-shifters, and is far rarer. But we already have samples of one of them, so we can continue on that part of the project as well.”

The Russian smiled. “I am thinkink that beink able to change form would be useful as well, nyet?”

“Immortality first, powers second, mes amis. There is a third type mentioned, but they are deliberately refusing to research it.”

Stavros looked at him more intently. “Why is that?”

“Because that type is not truly alive. Apparently vampires have been real in the past. But they do speculate that Kostchei is one of that type. So if we want to check into this...” De Revol looked at Telnikov. “You are the one that would be the obvious choice.”

The Russian shook his head. “Nyet. If the Black God of the fables is real, I am havink nothink to do with disturbink him. Or the Baba Yaga, before you are askink.”

Lowe smiled to her partner as the discussion continued. “So, our canary trap worked. He has access to the copy that doesn't list the demihumans by their informal names and that refers to the undead as vampires. And so now we know which office is leaking...”

“Shall I call Stardancer and have them start making arrests?” Whitford was already reaching for his cell phone.

“John... it's still 5 am in her time zone. And secondly, no. We know where the leak is now. The next question is not 'how quick can we shut it down.' The next question should be 'what do we want to allow
to leak.' This is a different game than the one you play.”

The gray wolf growled. “It goes against the grain to let them get away with it.”

The white one grinned and leaned over to lick his muzzle in lupine affection. “But if we let them find out only the things we want, both true and false... they're -not- getting away with it, are they? Trust me on this one, you can hurt them far worse by controlling what they see through the keyhole than by stuffing the key back in. It's like that reverse ambush scenario you told me about.”

“Ah. When you expect you've surprised them and it turns out they knew all along?”

“Precisely, dear. Now let's get some breakfast and head into the office.”

* * * *

“Eldest? I have a question for you.” Stardancer had been trying to contact the unicorn for several days before she finally got through. “Two questions, actually. Will you speak with me?”

“I will, 'Dancer. How go your studies?”

“Some go well, others poorly. We are trying to do too many things with too few who can do things directly. What is easy for those in whom the power flows strongly is far more difficult for those who must manipulate the forces by using crystals and jade and incantation. And there are barely thousands of us, to come up with ideas that are needed to save the lives of billions.”

“I wish I could be of more help. But I have never really understood the methods of science and engineering, and I am far too old to learn quickly, I fear.”

Stardancer smiled. “”It takes even the young a while to learn those disciplines properly, after all. But not to worry, I don't need to ask you that sort of question.”

“What, then?”

“The first question is, can you help a new unicorn learn how to shift form? He spent several years as a bipedal changeling without realizing he could do it, before transforming to a full unicorn under stress. And now he can't figure out how to switch back.”

The Eldest whickered laughter. “Indeed I can help with that. Is it your friend Thaddeus?”

“No... although perhaps we should check to see if he can do it as well. This is one of our security guards. He stopped to assist after a traffic accident and transformed to heal a young girl who had been mortally injured. And he seems to be stuck in the quadruped form now.”

“A healer, as well? Interesting. And your second request?”

“A matter of information, Eldest. One of my people, an eagle-morph, seems to be slowly recalling someone else's memories. He called the unicorn by -your- name, which he had not known before, and used one of the old Sioux dialects – again, a language he had not known previously. Any idea what is going on? Should we be worried?”

“An eagle, you say? I wonder... I can be there whenever you would like. And I think you should call the Stormchild as well. She also has old memories... and they may be related.”