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Chapter 18
31 October 1993
Dulac, Louisiana
The old woman carried the scent of swamp and herbal potions into the sterile environment of the hospital. She smiled at her granddaughter; her great-granddaughter's husband paused in his prowling of the waiting room to make himself inconspicuous in a corner behind yesterday's newspaper. He didn't actually believe that old Marie DuChamps was really a witch, he assured himself – nobody believed in witches any more, after all – but why take chances?
The granddaughter smiled through shocked surprise. “Granmere? Dis de first time in years you come into town.” She was less inclined to dismiss the old stories than her son-in-law was. “Nothin's wrong, I hope?”
“Nothin's wrong, chile. But I got a feelin' 'bout dis baby, so I figger I should be at de birthin'. Git yo'self up and show me where dey put Brigitte.”
“I don' think the doc is gonna let us in. He wouldn't even let Leo stay.”
“I should hope not, Teresa. Leo ain't got no business dere. We's a different kettle o' fish. You jes' lead de way, let ol' Marie handle de doc.”
* * * *
Richard DeForrest, MD, had long experience with the bayou Cajuns, and knew better than to protest when the old swamp-witch bustled into the delivery room. “Madame DuChamps. You wish to attend the delivery, I assume?”
“I's gonna deliver dis baby my own self, Doc, just like I did most o' my nieces and nephews an' all my granchillen and greatgranchillen. You behave yo'self, an' I let -you- stay an' watch.”
He bowed to the inevitable. “That's fair enough. Nurse, would you get gowns for Madame DuChamps and her assistant?”
* * * *
“One more push, Brigitte. Jes' one more good push an' de hard part is all over wit'.” The young woman complied, biting back a yelp of pain to a muffled grunt, and then collapsed back on the table as the old woman held up her great-great-granddaughter. “Welcome to de world, Marie. I t'ink you is gwine to have a grand time here.”
Both of the younger women looked up at that even in the midst of finishing the delivery and letting the official medical people take charge of disposing of the placenta. “You want to name her after you, Granmere?”
“Shore do, dears. She's got de sign, same as I do.” She indicate the small white splotch on the baby's coffee-and-cream scalp. “Cain't hardly tell no more now dat -all- my hair's white, but when I's younger, I had de same white lock she's gwine have.”
* * * *
She had been born Marie DeVaux, heir to a mixed Cajun and African heritage. Her double-great-grandmother had taken her as an apprentice in the first decade of the Twenty-first Century, teaching the young girl the 'magic' of healing potions first before branching out to a more esoteric pharmacopoeia, and Marie had used that as a starting point to go on to earn a doctorate in biochemistry.
The Event at the end of 2012 had affected several members of her family – the DuChamps heritage turned out to include Changeling genes. The old witch was now a gray rat, and appeared to be good for another century of life. Her aunt Helene was a red squirrel, and Marie and her brother Jean-Paul were now black-furred mouse-changelings. She alone, though, had discovered that the new reality had gifted her with the ability to read thoughts and emotions, and to control the dreams of others. As Dreamweaver, she had been invited to join the fraternity of the Immortals; as heir to her Granmere's heritage, she was now spoken of in the bayou in hushed whispers, apprentice to the witch who could now draw on true magic as well as the potions and illusion of the voudoun.
She was stirring a cauldron, in the midst of an experiment combining magic and biochemistry, when the flames flickered and bent. “Dreamweaver?”
“Is that you, Diviner? What do you need?”
“Had a premonition. How do you feel about a trip to California?”
The mouse leaned over to look into the distorted image under her brewing kettle. “Unenthusiastic, to be honest. Can it wait until November?”
The wolf grimaced. “I don't think so. It's going to involve the Stormchild and another weathermonger, and you seem to be the only one who can keep it from ending badly. On the plus side, it shouldn't take more than a few days.”
She thought about it. “Oh, all right. As long as I'm back by the 26th.”
“Not a problem. If you'd like, I'll have Shadow fly you there and back.”
“I'll take you up on that, Diviner.”
“All right. When can you leave?”
“Two days. Friday morning okay?”
“Shadow prefers flying at night. How about Thursday evening?”
“Deal.”
* * * *
Lowe spoke the final word to activate the mirror-spell. “Healer?” The reflection faded into mist, and then cleared. A rather surprised face stared back at her from the other side.
“Director Lowe? Or should I say Diviner, today? What can I do for you?”
“Director is correct at the moment, Dr. Ryan. I needed to give you a bit of a heads-up. We have a leak somewhere in your department.”
“A leak? You mean a spy?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“But you don't know who it is, I take it?”
“Not specifically, no. We spotted it from the other end, actually. From the information that they had, we know it came from one of your people, and from what they -didn't- know, we're sure it wasn't you.”
“So... why even tell me? Now that I know it, I'm going to be suspicious of people and give the game away. I'm not really a good actress. And for that matter, is it even an issue? It's not like we're going to be keeping it a secret once we've got the key. We just don't want people to get hopeful prematurely.”
Lowe nodded. “I'm aware of the risk, Doctor. But I'm going to be sending one of my people in to investigate, and I'll need your cooperation to get him into your group. As for why – it's a matter of -who- is looking over your shoulder. ”
“Ah. Someone we'd rather not see as an Immortal wants the secret for themselves?”
“And going by their track record, they're not really interested in sharing, either.”
“So what do you need me to do?”
“I'd like to send you a new researcher. He really is a geneticist, if not up to your level. But he also is an empath, and I've trained him how to use that as a lie detector. I'm not actually looking to arrest any of your people at this point – worst case, even if I feel that's warranted, I'll run it past you first. If it's someone who is helpful to you, all we really would need to do is to cut off his ability to pass secrets on to other parties.”
Ryan shook her head. “I can't believe that one of my people is a spy.”
“From what we've gleaned, this may predate the Event. Don't pass this around, but Reynard was outed as an immortal several years early, and a certain person took a great interest in all kinds of medical knowledge trying to figure out how it worked. He's working on a longevity project of his own – my biggest complaint is that he's stealing our research rather than offering to pool it. Our spy may have been consulting with him completely legitimately before the Event, and may not see a reason to stop – or might be being blackmailed into it now. We'll have to find out.”
“All right, all right.” Ryan sighed. “So who are you sending in?”
“His name is Antonio Vanzetti. Currently with Penn State, we're making the arrangements to send him out to you at the end of the semester. Officially, he's doing a sabbatical with you.”
Ryan nodded. “So it's not really a rush, then.”
The wolf shook her head. “Not really, no. We want to know who it is, but as I said, we have the other end tapped, and nothing too bad has gone through yet. If that changes, we'll send in a more... active group. Any questions?”
“Not right now. I think I remember Vanzetti – didn't he do a paper on genetic markers for the demihumans?”
“That's him.”
“So he should fit right in. No problem, then.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I owe you a favor.”
“Like I said, no problem. I'll let you know if I notice anything suspicious.”
Lowe chuckled. “Don't worry too much about it. -Everyone- does things that could be suspicious. You'll go paranoid if you pay too much attention to it. Just keep working on -your- problem, and leave the spy stuff to me.”
“I think I can do that. Good night.”
“Good night, Dr. Ryan. I'll be in touch again before Vanzetti arrives.”
* * * *
Basir was the first to arrive. The town's imam greeted Sayeed politely, and was shown to the meeting room. “Thank you for coming, sir. The others should be here soon.”
Mazin arrived with Omar, the village mayor, a few minutes later; Isam was the last to arrive. Sayeed's wife set out refreshments for his guests, and then withdrew to let the men discuss business without her presence. The other four eyed each other curiously as they exchanged polite small talk over coffee and pastry for a time, and then Sayeed came to the point, almost indecently rapidly by the standards of his culture. “We need to come to a decision, I fear. The Islamic State remains in disarray, as Allah wills that the heathen sorcerers may continue to transform those that claim to act in his name but whom, I suspect, do not truly fully understand His will. Isam, you are the one who understands these computer things. What news is there from the outside?”
Isam had been wondering why he had been called to a meeting with the rest. He nodded as he realized why Sayeed considered him important enough to speak with the mayor and the imam as well as the commanders of the town militia. “What you say is truth, Sayeed. The Islamic State has been hurt by what has happened, hurt badly. They are being pressed from all sides and will not likely win the war against Assad, let alone the Iraqis.”
Sayeed nodded. “That is what I have seen, as well. We have received no offer of assistance with our demon-spawned snake. In fact, we have received a demand for some of our fighters to be sent to al-Raqqah for the army of the latest pretender to the Caliphate.”
Omar looked shocked at the words. Basir frowned thoughtfully, but said nothing. It fell to Mazin to fill the silence. “I take it that you do not wish to send any of our people away?”
“I do not. We need them here, where we border the Kurds, and to deal with the snake. But I cannot make this decision alone. If we tell them no, we are on our own - or we must make contact with either the Sunnis in Damascus or the other rebels.”
“Submit to Assad? Never!” Basir shook his head. “But you may be right. If we split off from the Islamic State, we will have to make common cause with the other Shia rebels.”
Sayeed nodded. “The advantage is that the Americans are supplying them. And they may be infidels, and unreliable in the long term, but in the short term? They have marvelous weapons to share.”
“But we have to think in the long term, Sayeed.” Omar was still dithering. “We cannot depend on them to help us against the Islamic State forever.”
“It looks like they will not have to, Omar. They fail even faster than the Americans change their minds. They claim to know the will of Allah, but it seems that they do not – and they will be punished for that.” Sayeed shook his head. “We do not need to decide just yet – but the time is coming when we will have to tell them 'No.' I would prefer that we are all in agreement when that time comes.”
Basir looked at each of the others in turn. “The faithful must be prepared, Sayeed. It is good that you have brought this to my attention.” He turned to Isam. “You must find out all that you can, so that we may know what is happening in the world, and make our decisions with wisdom. Can you do this?”
The tech nodded. “Certainly, Imam.”
“Then I think we should meet again soon. In two days, perhaps, after the noon prayers?”
Sayeed added, “Or sooner if something happens. But that should work.”
“Then it shall be so, Allah willing. Until then, my friends.” The imam stood, and the rest followed suit. The meeting broke up with more pleasantries.
* * * *
Lowe padded out to her computer in robe and slippers. “Coming, John? It's almost time for this month's conspiracy meeting.”
“Be there in a minute.” Beeping announced the appearance of microwaved breakfasts. “You want the sausage with pancakes, or the bacon and eggs?”
“Never did get a taste for nuked bacon. I'll take the pancakes.”
“Here y'are then.” The pair settled down as the screens lit up. “Who are we tapping into this month?”
“Jian Chao. Decided that while Brunei might be easier to tap into, one of these days they're going to start without him. I'd rather not miss anything.”
“Heh. Good point. And you're right. He's the last one missing again.”
Lowe nodded. “Every time. Ah, there he is. Let's see what they've got this month.”
The meeting ran as it usually did, primarily business arrangements at first, imports, exports and shipping. Lowe pricked her ears up when the topic of dealing with customs arose.
“We had plenty of warning to put things into place to circumvent the new procedures when necessary,” Jian Chao reported. “We have certain ports and certain people that we can use when we -must- sneak something past the borders, even with the new arrangements. And the Europeans are nearly as open internally as the Americans these days, so once something is past the first border, it is easy to move it to wherever it is needed. Sloppy, this lack of internal checkpoints.”
Stavros gave him a slight shrug. “But it improves efficiency to move things quickly. And since I sometimes need to move things quietly, I'm not about to suggest clamping down. Are you?”
Jian Chao smiled. “Now that you mention it, no. Although I'm not going to suggest the reverse to the Great Dragon, either.”
Telnikov snorted. “And this is because nobody delays -your- shipments for long, da? Gives you advantage over those who need to bribe the inspectors.”
Jian smiled again. “Perhaps.”
“You are not foolink anyone.” He changed the subject, though. “So what happen to the Americans last week? They try to hush up, but am findink out that there was major attack on Thunder God's compound. Anythink you wish to tell us, Tsarevich Hassan?”
The Bruneian shook his head. “Nothing to do with me, or anyone I have contact with. They recruited actually in America, it seems.”
Lowe growled softly at that revelation. “Have to do something about the homegrown lunatics. Wish I knew what, though.”
Chen Ming-Yu spoke up. “There are always fanatics. The Islamic State seems to have fewer in recent months, however.”
Hassan glared at his screens. “Dark sorcery. Any who take the mantle of leadership find themselves transformed.”
“Quite effective, though.” Marubashi sounded more amused than anything. “It seems that the Americans are involved, somehow. My sources tell me that their NSA chief has traveled to Europe or Africa every time that ISIL has suffered these losses to their leadership cadre. Near enough to Circe's domain to have visited with her; and there have always been times when her location is unknown. Her airplane seems to vanish for hours or days at a time.”
“That might be more than just 'seems' to.” Stavros added. “She always has the same pilot on her flights. And that particular pilot is reported to have some very unusual abilities.”
Whitford sighed. “Even Shadow can't hide the fact that she's hiding, I guess. It was bound to be noticed sooner or later.”
Lowe nodded. “I -would- like to know where he got that from, though. Shadow's been seen – well, her ability to vanish has been seen – by a fair number of pilots and radar techs, but the fact she can do that with an entire aircraft -is- supposed to be classified Confidential.”
“And we both know that too many people think 'Confidential' means 'Don't announce this over the mike the next time you stop in at Karaoke Night.' That level leaks regularly. Besides, she did it over Manila. Classifying it at all was a lost cause.”
“Still... ooo, talk later.” Lowe stopped their side discussion as the meeting changed topic.
“... continues to make slow but steady progress, confirmed by my own labs. They have located the gene complex responsible for the magic-dependent form of longevity and are currently mapping it out. Once they know the details, my people assure me that implanting it can be done on an individual basis by a sufficiently skilled mage, as long as cost is no object.” De Revol sounded quite pleased to announce this.
“Do they have an estimate for when they will succeed?”
“Years yet. They're not committing to anything beyond 'within a decade.' It seems that the fact that it is magic makes it easy to spot but difficult to analyze. The reports talk about needing new techniques because the ones based on electrical phenomena won't function. But they -are- now talking about when, not if.”
Stavros smiled. “Very good news indeed.” He looked at his compatriots. “Anything else for now?” Several variations of 'no' came back. “Then until next month, gentlemen.” The screens began winking out as people disconnected.
Lowe stretched and stood up. “Whoever he's got feeding him information, they're well inside the loop. I just found out about that yesterday myself.” She paused, as the last two screens hadn't blanked out yet. “Hello... what have we here?”
Chen and Jian shifted to Mandarin as the full conference ended. “And how are things in Beijing, my friend?”
“Tense. The Dragon is definitely withdrawing from day to day operations, but he keeps his finger on the pulse of things. He is testing us.”
“How so?”
“He expects us to follow his wishes, without informing us what those may be. Wisdom, on his part – he intends to leave the government in those hands that truly share his vision. But quite stressful for us.”
Chen pursed his lips. “Indeed. And what are the penalties he enacts for failure?”
“It depends. For mere incompetence, dismissal. In a few cases simply a demotion or transfer to duties one is capable of handling. For true failure to follow his vision, anything from fines to imprisonment to occasionally execution. When he began to withdraw from day to day activities, one of the PLA deputies thought that this signaled a return to the old ways of graft and shoddy work. -That- one was eaten.”
Chen winced. “He does seem to be rather adamant about that. Whatever you do, do it well. Does he object to profiting from your government work?”
“Not at all. He objects to taking bribes to contract with someone who is not capable, however, and he objects very much to not getting his money's worth. The security services have been winnowed rather thoroughly. He has no patience with the guilty, and he has no use for the Western coddling of such, but falsified charges against an innocent... that happened twice. Both of -them- were eaten as well.”
“I sense a pattern here. He is very much a traditional follower of Kong Fu Tsi, is he not?”
“That is my impression as well, and I have been studying the Analects and the histories of his life for guidance. I recommend it to you as well. Even without the threat of the Dragon should you not follow them, they have much to recommend them.”
“Indeed. I think I shall take your advice, Jian-zi. Until next time, then?”
“Until then.”
Lowe stared at the blank screens for a while after the two finally signed off. “John?”
“Yes?”
“I think I'd better brush up on the Analects myself. And I think we're definitely going to be tuning in to one of these two next month, as well.”
"The Analects? You do realize I didn't understand a word of that?"
"Oh, right... The writings of Kong Fu Tsi. Confucius, in the old style."
"Ah. Might want to check the others, still. They might not be the only sub-group passing extra information around.”
“True. Maybe I should tap into all of them at once. That'd be a grand way to get noticed, though... don't really want to risk that.”
“Just check around. We already know that De Revol and Stavros aren't doing it, at least not right after a big meeting. We now know that Chen and Jian talk to each other. That leaves the Russian, Hassan, and Murabashi. Tap into two of them next time, and we've got it covered.”
Lowe grinned. “Thank you. That does cut it down to size.” She leaned over to nuzzle him and steal the last bit of egg from his plate. “And time for work again.”
* * * *
MacDowell woke to the rumble of thunder and rain pattering in bursts against the window of the motel room outside Los Alamos. The clock claimed it was a quarter to six. <Might as well get up. Trying to go back to sleep for a half-hour isn't worth the trouble.> He went to the window on raptor-clawed feet and peered out into the early morning darkness, the sharpness of eagle eyes softened by glass and raindrops. Lightning danced among the clouds, traceries of electricity triggered by the ionization trails of cosmic rays and random nuclear decays. He watched them for a few minutes, and then his eyes widened as he realized he was -anticipating- the strokes. <I know where they are going to be. How do I know that?> He shook his head. <Something to worry about later. But not too much later. I am still changing, somehow, and it might be important.>
* * * *
The lynx observed with her eyes closed, her awareness caught up in the patterns of wind and pressure and energy rather than the distractions of mere vision. <Something is different. Faint, still, and far to the west, but it is there. And the Stardancer wishes me to come to California. I wonder...>
* * * *
“...and it looks like ISIL is in a full retreat on the fronts with both the Damascus government and the more moderate rebels. It appears that the disruption to their leadership has caused them a lot of trouble.”
The President raised one eyebrow at his security director. “And the press still has no idea who is turning their leaders into pigs?”
Lowe shrugged and did her best to look innocent. “There are several of the Immortals who have that sort of capability, sir. It could be any of them.”
Boehner turned off the recorders. “We're starting to get questions about it, though. How direct a hand have you had in it?”
“Off the record, sir?”
“All the way out in the wilderness.”
“I assisted the group that devised the spells, and I have been feeding them information on potential targets. I have not personally cast any such spells, and they make the target selections without my final input.”
“They?”
“Two groups, sir, headed by Circe and Haroun. Both are trustworthy, and the communications are done via the Immortal network. That's pretty close to perfectly secure.”
“And if the press does get wind of any of this? We've already got a certain section of the electorate complaining that someone is violating their human rights, complete with calls to investigate.”
“I can deny doing it under oath, sir. Even a magically enforced one. If the press asks me questions about it, I can always suggest that they ask Circe for an interview.” The wolf's attempt at looking innocent might have fooled someone who didn't know her. If they were blind. “At least it would get them out of everyone's hair.”
The President shook his head. “Don't talk to the press. You really don't help us at all when you do that.”
“An order I shall be only too happy to comply with, sir. I rea--” She stopped in midword, her gaze suddenly focused on thin air and her eyes glowing.
Boehner jerked back at the sudden change, something he'd never seen before. “Director? What's wrong?”
The town was typical of the middle East, whitewashed brick in the ancient style with technology grafted on as an afterthought. The river was less typical, a reliable water source in the desert, with the town curling around one of its meandering bends and green fields extending along the watercourse in both directions. The vision focused on an ongoing firefight, and it was then that she realized her connection to it. She recognized the one directing one side of the battle, the guard who had helped prisoners escape when she had witnessed the first transformation of an ISIL fanatic. He was directing the defenders, but they were outnumbered and losing. He collapsed in a fractal mosaic, the exact moment of his death uncertain in the timestream, and the vision shifted to... Napoli? No. Roma... the Vatican... There was only a moment to identify the city before it vanished in a mushroom cloud.
And then she was back in the present, gasping for air and the President halfway around his desk. She waved him back to his seat. “I'm all right. That was... bad one...” She shuddered, and then gathered herself together. “I told you about my visions, I believe?”
“You did, yes. That was what just happened?”
She nodded. “Something... someone... I remember the face from the first transformation Circe made. I was there, this man was in the background as we watched and I saw him release prisoners that ISIL had intended to execute, during the panic after they transformed the target. He dies in a firefight, and somehow this leads to a nuclear detonation over a city... Rome, I think.” She looked up. “Don't be alarmed. I'm about to do it again, most likely. Because I'm going to make a decision... to find out who he is, and help hi--.”
The President was ready for it this time, as the wolf again froze in place while her eyes glowed witchfire white. He waited for it to end, and spoke softly when she came back to herself. “A happier ending this time?”
“I think so. It's ISIL, sure enough. They're coming apart at the seams, and at the end they become insanely desperate. But they have to be taken down quickly, because if they have too much time before they collapse, they find – or finish preparing, it's vague – a nuclear weapon. And they're crazy enough to use it in a defiant Samson-in-the-Temple gesture.”
“What do we have to do?”
“First I have to find him. That's just moved up to first priority on my time, sir.” Boehner nodded. “And then... I'm not sure yet, whether this is an Immortal thing or a mortal one. But we have to help him and his people stand against ISIL.”
“Are you going to want to wander off again, Doctor?”
“I'm afraid so, sir. It seems I'm being a rather absentee director after all.”
He chuckled. “You've gotten us a strong new ally and dealt with two nasty new enemies so far, Doctor. I think I can handle whatever management style you feel you need to use to put down another one. Now go get busy. I don't want to go down in history as the President who let them nuke the Pope.”
31 October 1993
Dulac, Louisiana
The old woman carried the scent of swamp and herbal potions into the sterile environment of the hospital. She smiled at her granddaughter; her great-granddaughter's husband paused in his prowling of the waiting room to make himself inconspicuous in a corner behind yesterday's newspaper. He didn't actually believe that old Marie DuChamps was really a witch, he assured himself – nobody believed in witches any more, after all – but why take chances?
The granddaughter smiled through shocked surprise. “Granmere? Dis de first time in years you come into town.” She was less inclined to dismiss the old stories than her son-in-law was. “Nothin's wrong, I hope?”
“Nothin's wrong, chile. But I got a feelin' 'bout dis baby, so I figger I should be at de birthin'. Git yo'self up and show me where dey put Brigitte.”
“I don' think the doc is gonna let us in. He wouldn't even let Leo stay.”
“I should hope not, Teresa. Leo ain't got no business dere. We's a different kettle o' fish. You jes' lead de way, let ol' Marie handle de doc.”
* * * *
Richard DeForrest, MD, had long experience with the bayou Cajuns, and knew better than to protest when the old swamp-witch bustled into the delivery room. “Madame DuChamps. You wish to attend the delivery, I assume?”
“I's gonna deliver dis baby my own self, Doc, just like I did most o' my nieces and nephews an' all my granchillen and greatgranchillen. You behave yo'self, an' I let -you- stay an' watch.”
He bowed to the inevitable. “That's fair enough. Nurse, would you get gowns for Madame DuChamps and her assistant?”
* * * *
“One more push, Brigitte. Jes' one more good push an' de hard part is all over wit'.” The young woman complied, biting back a yelp of pain to a muffled grunt, and then collapsed back on the table as the old woman held up her great-great-granddaughter. “Welcome to de world, Marie. I t'ink you is gwine to have a grand time here.”
Both of the younger women looked up at that even in the midst of finishing the delivery and letting the official medical people take charge of disposing of the placenta. “You want to name her after you, Granmere?”
“Shore do, dears. She's got de sign, same as I do.” She indicate the small white splotch on the baby's coffee-and-cream scalp. “Cain't hardly tell no more now dat -all- my hair's white, but when I's younger, I had de same white lock she's gwine have.”
* * * *
She had been born Marie DeVaux, heir to a mixed Cajun and African heritage. Her double-great-grandmother had taken her as an apprentice in the first decade of the Twenty-first Century, teaching the young girl the 'magic' of healing potions first before branching out to a more esoteric pharmacopoeia, and Marie had used that as a starting point to go on to earn a doctorate in biochemistry.
The Event at the end of 2012 had affected several members of her family – the DuChamps heritage turned out to include Changeling genes. The old witch was now a gray rat, and appeared to be good for another century of life. Her aunt Helene was a red squirrel, and Marie and her brother Jean-Paul were now black-furred mouse-changelings. She alone, though, had discovered that the new reality had gifted her with the ability to read thoughts and emotions, and to control the dreams of others. As Dreamweaver, she had been invited to join the fraternity of the Immortals; as heir to her Granmere's heritage, she was now spoken of in the bayou in hushed whispers, apprentice to the witch who could now draw on true magic as well as the potions and illusion of the voudoun.
She was stirring a cauldron, in the midst of an experiment combining magic and biochemistry, when the flames flickered and bent. “Dreamweaver?”
“Is that you, Diviner? What do you need?”
“Had a premonition. How do you feel about a trip to California?”
The mouse leaned over to look into the distorted image under her brewing kettle. “Unenthusiastic, to be honest. Can it wait until November?”
The wolf grimaced. “I don't think so. It's going to involve the Stormchild and another weathermonger, and you seem to be the only one who can keep it from ending badly. On the plus side, it shouldn't take more than a few days.”
She thought about it. “Oh, all right. As long as I'm back by the 26th.”
“Not a problem. If you'd like, I'll have Shadow fly you there and back.”
“I'll take you up on that, Diviner.”
“All right. When can you leave?”
“Two days. Friday morning okay?”
“Shadow prefers flying at night. How about Thursday evening?”
“Deal.”
* * * *
Lowe spoke the final word to activate the mirror-spell. “Healer?” The reflection faded into mist, and then cleared. A rather surprised face stared back at her from the other side.
“Director Lowe? Or should I say Diviner, today? What can I do for you?”
“Director is correct at the moment, Dr. Ryan. I needed to give you a bit of a heads-up. We have a leak somewhere in your department.”
“A leak? You mean a spy?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“But you don't know who it is, I take it?”
“Not specifically, no. We spotted it from the other end, actually. From the information that they had, we know it came from one of your people, and from what they -didn't- know, we're sure it wasn't you.”
“So... why even tell me? Now that I know it, I'm going to be suspicious of people and give the game away. I'm not really a good actress. And for that matter, is it even an issue? It's not like we're going to be keeping it a secret once we've got the key. We just don't want people to get hopeful prematurely.”
Lowe nodded. “I'm aware of the risk, Doctor. But I'm going to be sending one of my people in to investigate, and I'll need your cooperation to get him into your group. As for why – it's a matter of -who- is looking over your shoulder. ”
“Ah. Someone we'd rather not see as an Immortal wants the secret for themselves?”
“And going by their track record, they're not really interested in sharing, either.”
“So what do you need me to do?”
“I'd like to send you a new researcher. He really is a geneticist, if not up to your level. But he also is an empath, and I've trained him how to use that as a lie detector. I'm not actually looking to arrest any of your people at this point – worst case, even if I feel that's warranted, I'll run it past you first. If it's someone who is helpful to you, all we really would need to do is to cut off his ability to pass secrets on to other parties.”
Ryan shook her head. “I can't believe that one of my people is a spy.”
“From what we've gleaned, this may predate the Event. Don't pass this around, but Reynard was outed as an immortal several years early, and a certain person took a great interest in all kinds of medical knowledge trying to figure out how it worked. He's working on a longevity project of his own – my biggest complaint is that he's stealing our research rather than offering to pool it. Our spy may have been consulting with him completely legitimately before the Event, and may not see a reason to stop – or might be being blackmailed into it now. We'll have to find out.”
“All right, all right.” Ryan sighed. “So who are you sending in?”
“His name is Antonio Vanzetti. Currently with Penn State, we're making the arrangements to send him out to you at the end of the semester. Officially, he's doing a sabbatical with you.”
Ryan nodded. “So it's not really a rush, then.”
The wolf shook her head. “Not really, no. We want to know who it is, but as I said, we have the other end tapped, and nothing too bad has gone through yet. If that changes, we'll send in a more... active group. Any questions?”
“Not right now. I think I remember Vanzetti – didn't he do a paper on genetic markers for the demihumans?”
“That's him.”
“So he should fit right in. No problem, then.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I owe you a favor.”
“Like I said, no problem. I'll let you know if I notice anything suspicious.”
Lowe chuckled. “Don't worry too much about it. -Everyone- does things that could be suspicious. You'll go paranoid if you pay too much attention to it. Just keep working on -your- problem, and leave the spy stuff to me.”
“I think I can do that. Good night.”
“Good night, Dr. Ryan. I'll be in touch again before Vanzetti arrives.”
* * * *
Basir was the first to arrive. The town's imam greeted Sayeed politely, and was shown to the meeting room. “Thank you for coming, sir. The others should be here soon.”
Mazin arrived with Omar, the village mayor, a few minutes later; Isam was the last to arrive. Sayeed's wife set out refreshments for his guests, and then withdrew to let the men discuss business without her presence. The other four eyed each other curiously as they exchanged polite small talk over coffee and pastry for a time, and then Sayeed came to the point, almost indecently rapidly by the standards of his culture. “We need to come to a decision, I fear. The Islamic State remains in disarray, as Allah wills that the heathen sorcerers may continue to transform those that claim to act in his name but whom, I suspect, do not truly fully understand His will. Isam, you are the one who understands these computer things. What news is there from the outside?”
Isam had been wondering why he had been called to a meeting with the rest. He nodded as he realized why Sayeed considered him important enough to speak with the mayor and the imam as well as the commanders of the town militia. “What you say is truth, Sayeed. The Islamic State has been hurt by what has happened, hurt badly. They are being pressed from all sides and will not likely win the war against Assad, let alone the Iraqis.”
Sayeed nodded. “That is what I have seen, as well. We have received no offer of assistance with our demon-spawned snake. In fact, we have received a demand for some of our fighters to be sent to al-Raqqah for the army of the latest pretender to the Caliphate.”
Omar looked shocked at the words. Basir frowned thoughtfully, but said nothing. It fell to Mazin to fill the silence. “I take it that you do not wish to send any of our people away?”
“I do not. We need them here, where we border the Kurds, and to deal with the snake. But I cannot make this decision alone. If we tell them no, we are on our own - or we must make contact with either the Sunnis in Damascus or the other rebels.”
“Submit to Assad? Never!” Basir shook his head. “But you may be right. If we split off from the Islamic State, we will have to make common cause with the other Shia rebels.”
Sayeed nodded. “The advantage is that the Americans are supplying them. And they may be infidels, and unreliable in the long term, but in the short term? They have marvelous weapons to share.”
“But we have to think in the long term, Sayeed.” Omar was still dithering. “We cannot depend on them to help us against the Islamic State forever.”
“It looks like they will not have to, Omar. They fail even faster than the Americans change their minds. They claim to know the will of Allah, but it seems that they do not – and they will be punished for that.” Sayeed shook his head. “We do not need to decide just yet – but the time is coming when we will have to tell them 'No.' I would prefer that we are all in agreement when that time comes.”
Basir looked at each of the others in turn. “The faithful must be prepared, Sayeed. It is good that you have brought this to my attention.” He turned to Isam. “You must find out all that you can, so that we may know what is happening in the world, and make our decisions with wisdom. Can you do this?”
The tech nodded. “Certainly, Imam.”
“Then I think we should meet again soon. In two days, perhaps, after the noon prayers?”
Sayeed added, “Or sooner if something happens. But that should work.”
“Then it shall be so, Allah willing. Until then, my friends.” The imam stood, and the rest followed suit. The meeting broke up with more pleasantries.
* * * *
Lowe padded out to her computer in robe and slippers. “Coming, John? It's almost time for this month's conspiracy meeting.”
“Be there in a minute.” Beeping announced the appearance of microwaved breakfasts. “You want the sausage with pancakes, or the bacon and eggs?”
“Never did get a taste for nuked bacon. I'll take the pancakes.”
“Here y'are then.” The pair settled down as the screens lit up. “Who are we tapping into this month?”
“Jian Chao. Decided that while Brunei might be easier to tap into, one of these days they're going to start without him. I'd rather not miss anything.”
“Heh. Good point. And you're right. He's the last one missing again.”
Lowe nodded. “Every time. Ah, there he is. Let's see what they've got this month.”
The meeting ran as it usually did, primarily business arrangements at first, imports, exports and shipping. Lowe pricked her ears up when the topic of dealing with customs arose.
“We had plenty of warning to put things into place to circumvent the new procedures when necessary,” Jian Chao reported. “We have certain ports and certain people that we can use when we -must- sneak something past the borders, even with the new arrangements. And the Europeans are nearly as open internally as the Americans these days, so once something is past the first border, it is easy to move it to wherever it is needed. Sloppy, this lack of internal checkpoints.”
Stavros gave him a slight shrug. “But it improves efficiency to move things quickly. And since I sometimes need to move things quietly, I'm not about to suggest clamping down. Are you?”
Jian Chao smiled. “Now that you mention it, no. Although I'm not going to suggest the reverse to the Great Dragon, either.”
Telnikov snorted. “And this is because nobody delays -your- shipments for long, da? Gives you advantage over those who need to bribe the inspectors.”
Jian smiled again. “Perhaps.”
“You are not foolink anyone.” He changed the subject, though. “So what happen to the Americans last week? They try to hush up, but am findink out that there was major attack on Thunder God's compound. Anythink you wish to tell us, Tsarevich Hassan?”
The Bruneian shook his head. “Nothing to do with me, or anyone I have contact with. They recruited actually in America, it seems.”
Lowe growled softly at that revelation. “Have to do something about the homegrown lunatics. Wish I knew what, though.”
Chen Ming-Yu spoke up. “There are always fanatics. The Islamic State seems to have fewer in recent months, however.”
Hassan glared at his screens. “Dark sorcery. Any who take the mantle of leadership find themselves transformed.”
“Quite effective, though.” Marubashi sounded more amused than anything. “It seems that the Americans are involved, somehow. My sources tell me that their NSA chief has traveled to Europe or Africa every time that ISIL has suffered these losses to their leadership cadre. Near enough to Circe's domain to have visited with her; and there have always been times when her location is unknown. Her airplane seems to vanish for hours or days at a time.”
“That might be more than just 'seems' to.” Stavros added. “She always has the same pilot on her flights. And that particular pilot is reported to have some very unusual abilities.”
Whitford sighed. “Even Shadow can't hide the fact that she's hiding, I guess. It was bound to be noticed sooner or later.”
Lowe nodded. “I -would- like to know where he got that from, though. Shadow's been seen – well, her ability to vanish has been seen – by a fair number of pilots and radar techs, but the fact she can do that with an entire aircraft -is- supposed to be classified Confidential.”
“And we both know that too many people think 'Confidential' means 'Don't announce this over the mike the next time you stop in at Karaoke Night.' That level leaks regularly. Besides, she did it over Manila. Classifying it at all was a lost cause.”
“Still... ooo, talk later.” Lowe stopped their side discussion as the meeting changed topic.
“... continues to make slow but steady progress, confirmed by my own labs. They have located the gene complex responsible for the magic-dependent form of longevity and are currently mapping it out. Once they know the details, my people assure me that implanting it can be done on an individual basis by a sufficiently skilled mage, as long as cost is no object.” De Revol sounded quite pleased to announce this.
“Do they have an estimate for when they will succeed?”
“Years yet. They're not committing to anything beyond 'within a decade.' It seems that the fact that it is magic makes it easy to spot but difficult to analyze. The reports talk about needing new techniques because the ones based on electrical phenomena won't function. But they -are- now talking about when, not if.”
Stavros smiled. “Very good news indeed.” He looked at his compatriots. “Anything else for now?” Several variations of 'no' came back. “Then until next month, gentlemen.” The screens began winking out as people disconnected.
Lowe stretched and stood up. “Whoever he's got feeding him information, they're well inside the loop. I just found out about that yesterday myself.” She paused, as the last two screens hadn't blanked out yet. “Hello... what have we here?”
Chen and Jian shifted to Mandarin as the full conference ended. “And how are things in Beijing, my friend?”
“Tense. The Dragon is definitely withdrawing from day to day operations, but he keeps his finger on the pulse of things. He is testing us.”
“How so?”
“He expects us to follow his wishes, without informing us what those may be. Wisdom, on his part – he intends to leave the government in those hands that truly share his vision. But quite stressful for us.”
Chen pursed his lips. “Indeed. And what are the penalties he enacts for failure?”
“It depends. For mere incompetence, dismissal. In a few cases simply a demotion or transfer to duties one is capable of handling. For true failure to follow his vision, anything from fines to imprisonment to occasionally execution. When he began to withdraw from day to day activities, one of the PLA deputies thought that this signaled a return to the old ways of graft and shoddy work. -That- one was eaten.”
Chen winced. “He does seem to be rather adamant about that. Whatever you do, do it well. Does he object to profiting from your government work?”
“Not at all. He objects to taking bribes to contract with someone who is not capable, however, and he objects very much to not getting his money's worth. The security services have been winnowed rather thoroughly. He has no patience with the guilty, and he has no use for the Western coddling of such, but falsified charges against an innocent... that happened twice. Both of -them- were eaten as well.”
“I sense a pattern here. He is very much a traditional follower of Kong Fu Tsi, is he not?”
“That is my impression as well, and I have been studying the Analects and the histories of his life for guidance. I recommend it to you as well. Even without the threat of the Dragon should you not follow them, they have much to recommend them.”
“Indeed. I think I shall take your advice, Jian-zi. Until next time, then?”
“Until then.”
Lowe stared at the blank screens for a while after the two finally signed off. “John?”
“Yes?”
“I think I'd better brush up on the Analects myself. And I think we're definitely going to be tuning in to one of these two next month, as well.”
"The Analects? You do realize I didn't understand a word of that?"
"Oh, right... The writings of Kong Fu Tsi. Confucius, in the old style."
"Ah. Might want to check the others, still. They might not be the only sub-group passing extra information around.”
“True. Maybe I should tap into all of them at once. That'd be a grand way to get noticed, though... don't really want to risk that.”
“Just check around. We already know that De Revol and Stavros aren't doing it, at least not right after a big meeting. We now know that Chen and Jian talk to each other. That leaves the Russian, Hassan, and Murabashi. Tap into two of them next time, and we've got it covered.”
Lowe grinned. “Thank you. That does cut it down to size.” She leaned over to nuzzle him and steal the last bit of egg from his plate. “And time for work again.”
* * * *
MacDowell woke to the rumble of thunder and rain pattering in bursts against the window of the motel room outside Los Alamos. The clock claimed it was a quarter to six. <Might as well get up. Trying to go back to sleep for a half-hour isn't worth the trouble.> He went to the window on raptor-clawed feet and peered out into the early morning darkness, the sharpness of eagle eyes softened by glass and raindrops. Lightning danced among the clouds, traceries of electricity triggered by the ionization trails of cosmic rays and random nuclear decays. He watched them for a few minutes, and then his eyes widened as he realized he was -anticipating- the strokes. <I know where they are going to be. How do I know that?> He shook his head. <Something to worry about later. But not too much later. I am still changing, somehow, and it might be important.>
* * * *
The lynx observed with her eyes closed, her awareness caught up in the patterns of wind and pressure and energy rather than the distractions of mere vision. <Something is different. Faint, still, and far to the west, but it is there. And the Stardancer wishes me to come to California. I wonder...>
* * * *
“...and it looks like ISIL is in a full retreat on the fronts with both the Damascus government and the more moderate rebels. It appears that the disruption to their leadership has caused them a lot of trouble.”
The President raised one eyebrow at his security director. “And the press still has no idea who is turning their leaders into pigs?”
Lowe shrugged and did her best to look innocent. “There are several of the Immortals who have that sort of capability, sir. It could be any of them.”
Boehner turned off the recorders. “We're starting to get questions about it, though. How direct a hand have you had in it?”
“Off the record, sir?”
“All the way out in the wilderness.”
“I assisted the group that devised the spells, and I have been feeding them information on potential targets. I have not personally cast any such spells, and they make the target selections without my final input.”
“They?”
“Two groups, sir, headed by Circe and Haroun. Both are trustworthy, and the communications are done via the Immortal network. That's pretty close to perfectly secure.”
“And if the press does get wind of any of this? We've already got a certain section of the electorate complaining that someone is violating their human rights, complete with calls to investigate.”
“I can deny doing it under oath, sir. Even a magically enforced one. If the press asks me questions about it, I can always suggest that they ask Circe for an interview.” The wolf's attempt at looking innocent might have fooled someone who didn't know her. If they were blind. “At least it would get them out of everyone's hair.”
The President shook his head. “Don't talk to the press. You really don't help us at all when you do that.”
“An order I shall be only too happy to comply with, sir. I rea--” She stopped in midword, her gaze suddenly focused on thin air and her eyes glowing.
Boehner jerked back at the sudden change, something he'd never seen before. “Director? What's wrong?”
The town was typical of the middle East, whitewashed brick in the ancient style with technology grafted on as an afterthought. The river was less typical, a reliable water source in the desert, with the town curling around one of its meandering bends and green fields extending along the watercourse in both directions. The vision focused on an ongoing firefight, and it was then that she realized her connection to it. She recognized the one directing one side of the battle, the guard who had helped prisoners escape when she had witnessed the first transformation of an ISIL fanatic. He was directing the defenders, but they were outnumbered and losing. He collapsed in a fractal mosaic, the exact moment of his death uncertain in the timestream, and the vision shifted to... Napoli? No. Roma... the Vatican... There was only a moment to identify the city before it vanished in a mushroom cloud.
And then she was back in the present, gasping for air and the President halfway around his desk. She waved him back to his seat. “I'm all right. That was... bad one...” She shuddered, and then gathered herself together. “I told you about my visions, I believe?”
“You did, yes. That was what just happened?”
She nodded. “Something... someone... I remember the face from the first transformation Circe made. I was there, this man was in the background as we watched and I saw him release prisoners that ISIL had intended to execute, during the panic after they transformed the target. He dies in a firefight, and somehow this leads to a nuclear detonation over a city... Rome, I think.” She looked up. “Don't be alarmed. I'm about to do it again, most likely. Because I'm going to make a decision... to find out who he is, and help hi--.”
The President was ready for it this time, as the wolf again froze in place while her eyes glowed witchfire white. He waited for it to end, and spoke softly when she came back to herself. “A happier ending this time?”
“I think so. It's ISIL, sure enough. They're coming apart at the seams, and at the end they become insanely desperate. But they have to be taken down quickly, because if they have too much time before they collapse, they find – or finish preparing, it's vague – a nuclear weapon. And they're crazy enough to use it in a defiant Samson-in-the-Temple gesture.”
“What do we have to do?”
“First I have to find him. That's just moved up to first priority on my time, sir.” Boehner nodded. “And then... I'm not sure yet, whether this is an Immortal thing or a mortal one. But we have to help him and his people stand against ISIL.”
“Are you going to want to wander off again, Doctor?”
“I'm afraid so, sir. It seems I'm being a rather absentee director after all.”
He chuckled. “You've gotten us a strong new ally and dealt with two nasty new enemies so far, Doctor. I think I can handle whatever management style you feel you need to use to put down another one. Now go get busy. I don't want to go down in history as the President who let them nuke the Pope.”
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