Special agent, p.1
Special Agent, page 1
Special Agent
Pam Uphoff
Copyright 2023 Pamela Uphoff
All Rights Reserved
ISBN
978-1-962073-00-4
Cover Image by
Design by P. A. McWhorter
Dinosaur image by Piotr Zakrzewski from Pixabay
Figure created with Midjourney
This is a work of fiction.
All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional.
Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Large Scale Oddities
Chapter Two
First Objective
Chapter Three
Prepping for the Show Season
Chapter Four
Second Expedition
Chapter Five
The Equestrian Life
Chapter Six
High Tide
Chapter Seven
Berlin Winter Horse Show
Chapter Eight
Neanderthals
Chapter Nine
Hard Decisions
Chapter Ten
Desert
Chapter Eleven
Grim News
Chapter Twelve
Interesting Times
Chapter Thirteen
Waiting for News
Bonus Scene One
Bonus Scene Two
Bonus Scene Three
Excerpt from an Upcoming Release
Other Titles by Pam Uphoff
Prologue
September, 3723
Lord Konstantin Aslanov aimed his car at the city on the other side of the dimensional portal, and drove through. He felt the usual uncomfortable twitch of the crossing, then he relaxed and drove off the Beacon Plaza.
No dimensional equipment on this side, of course.
The hierarchy of “allowed access” being what it was, Tier Four Platina out of Tier Three Serebranyy, out of Solzhenitsyn was allowed only to reach out beyond itself, and never back toward its liege. And connecting directly to Solzhenitsyn, or if they were insane, Home, would bring swift retaliation.
Silver City, population almost two million, was clean, with tree-lined streets of well-kept homes on large lots, then stores, a street of shops. Then the medical center. A modern hospital, a cybernetics center.
A beautiful Council Hall, with onion domes.
Konstantin had been here twice before with the annual updates.
The local guardian, Lord Anatoly Avksentiy Gorbachev had been to some really interesting places in his long life. They generally met at a nice restaurant in town for a late breakfast.
Kon’s phone connected to the local system. “Hey, Anatoly, I’m in town, buy you a meal?”
A groan. “Just come meet me at the Portal Facility, god knows when I can get away from these idiots!”
That’s a surprise. We’re usually very compartmentalized. He did mention working there . . .
“Sure, be there in half an hour.” He turned and headed south, to the big bay of the Portal Facility. It was on the opposite side of the city from the Beacon Plaza.
Platina was notable for its ability to get along with the Natives, its luck in finding useful Resource Worlds, and that Diomid Devi—generally considered the richest individual in the Alliance—had bought the first, rather unimpressive, Resource World they’d discovered as his very own, private retirement home, two centuries ago. Who, exploring further, had found a rare-earth bonanza. And become even richer.
The tariff on those ores, and selling the occasional Resource World, along with regular, modest, agricultural exports, had allowed them to keep up with their mortgage payments (rather to everyone’s surprise). They’d managed to pay off the mortgage balance more than a century ago, but hadn’t encouraged colonists to join them, claiming that newcomers tended to cause trouble with the Natives, and create problems where none existed.
That colonists usually preferred a World not so lacking in exportable minerals might have also been a factor in keeping their population low.
Platina has one old Portal maker, who works half days, three days a week, out to the Resource Worlds that they didn’t sell outright to other branches.
I hope he hasn’t died. They have five colonies that depend on trade through here.
He drove in and parked to the side. A guard popped out . . .
“Konstantin Aslanov, to see Lord Anatoly.”
“He’s busy with that . . . with an official from the Licensing Bureau.”
“Ah, well. I’ll hang back and wait.”
He sauntered in through the open side door. Offices to the left, the doors to the bay to the right. Also propped open in the warm fall weather.
He belatedly noticed the lights were off. Problem with the power supply? He caught the voices out in the bay, and stepped in to see what was going on.
“. . . mean you can’t come back for a month! We’ve left our vassals hanging for ten days already, we need to get recertified.” Anatoly, by his tone, was pissed and trying to not show it.
“Until your new Portalmaker is installed, the Facilities cannot be tested. You have to open a Portal to be certified.”
“He’s not new. He got pneumonia, and had to be taken out of the support unit and hospitalized for a week.” Anatoly heaved an irritated breath. “I figured we might as well do the upgrades now.”
An indifferent shrug from the other man. “Bad idea.”
Kon side-stepped quietly behind Anatoly and further, through the open control room door. A polite nod to the inhabitants. “Konstantin Aslanov. How is your Portalmaker doing?” he blinked and focused on the starvation-thin man in the recliner.
Bald head, implants, with the wires leading to a pouch in his lap.
“Ah, out of the hospital, then. Umm, Marlin?”
A wobbly nod. Resigned expression. “Unfortunately. We’re just waiting on an . . . installer.” A soft tired voice. Definitely resigned.
Kon looked from him to the instrument panels . . . Bad idea, Kon. Don’t even . . .
“Are your wires long enough to plug in? And are you experienced enough to guide the Portal without the sensory deprivation?”
They all looked at him like he’d just committed sacrilege. Then they all turned to look at the man standing beside the recliner.
His official handler. Who is looking surprised, and thoughtful.
“All they need is one Portal opening, to get recertified.” The guy in the main control chair spun around. “Let’s push the coffin back and move the chair . . .”
The handler nodded. “Then we can take the time to be sure your lungs are healed, before . . .” He stepped over and shoved the coffin like he had a grudge against it. Two other guys jumped in to help, turning it so they could carefully shift the chair. Then one guy dived under the counter. “Feed me the connector.”
Another man bolted out and a few seconds later the lights came on. Marlin winced a little, and Kon slipped off his suit coat and spread it across Marlin’s chest, draping a sleeve over his eyes. “Better?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
All sorts of panels lit up as Anatoly galloped in. “What . . . Good God, will that work?”
“It feels good.” Marlin said, peeking out from under the coat sleeve.
“That’s horribly irregular!” The official fellow was appalled.
Kon nodded. “Yes, but if he can manage a single opening, you can certify the equipment, then we can get the installer in.” He caught Marlin’s gaze. Winked. “If you can, just one Portal, Marlin. What World is easiest?”
“Zoloto. I’ve landed there so often it’s almost automatic.”
A horrified huff from the official, but he checked all the readings, stepped out to do something, check the capacitors, perhaps, then stepped back in.
“Lower the rings.” He watched the screens, stepped to the door to look at the rings . . .
Kon stood back quietly while the rings were powered up, and Marlin reached for Zoloto. Opened his mental shields to incoming . . . Yes, he sees the blue like Jere, and knows where the various Worlds are.
He watched while Marlin guided a tornado of lightning down to a something . . .
Cheers from the watchers as the Portal opened.
The official huffed indignantly back and forth looking at the readouts, then out to apply his own instruments to the still open Portal, and finally told Anatoly to shut it down, and watched the instruments as Marlin did so.
“Well! That’s a bit irregular, but the Portalmaker isn’t my problem.” He signed and hand printed his tablet, and passed a copy to the techs at the board. “Your portal machinery is recertified, but you’ll have to get a medical specialist’s certification of the Portalmaker’s installation, before the facility is permitted to open for commercial traffic.” A stiff nod and he was gone.
“Damn, Kon! I never thought . . . Holy . . . Oh shit now I’m really going to feel horrible when we have to . . .”
“Install me.” Marlin gave a wobbly nod. “It’s the cost of dimensional travel.”
Sensory deprivation in a coffin shaped “life support module.” The rest of his life spent opening dimensional portals on demand.
The handler winced. Might have wiped a damp eye. That’s unusual. Most handlers are unempathetic sadists.
Kon scratched his chin. “He said ‘a medical specialist’s certification’ didn’t he? Not a doctor’s certification. Let me go get my computer, I want to look
As he walked out he heard the head tech’s voice. “Anatoly? That’s a very interesting friend you’ve got.”
“No kidding. I always assumed from his history that he was irredeemably law abiding.”
Kon grinned. Grabbed his computer and returned. “Actually, I come down solidly on the side of what’s Right, when it’s Right versus Legal. But sometimes it’s possible to wiggle a bit and do what’s right while conforming to the letter of the law.
“So let’s just see what sort of ‘medical specialty certificate’ someone has to have, to be allowed to install Portalclones. And how that compares with the certs I already have.”
The handler looked over his shoulder . . . “Good grief!”
“A bunch of us had a friendly contest to see how many certificates we could get. The Medical ones overlap, so just a few training sessions and I was . . . All right. Portal Clone Installation . . . nothing I don’t already have training to do. There, so let’s just put in an application. Sign and handprint . . . and send.” He leaned back. “It’ll get relayed Home and then have to come back, with who knows how much time in between. In the meantime, let me look at the certification forms.”
Anatoly leaned over his shoulder. “A checklist . . . starting with emplacement in a life-support module. Dammit.”
Kon leaned back, then looked around. “What’s in there?” He pointed at the door in the short cross wall beyond the coffin.
“A lav, and record storage.”
Kon got up and walked over to take a look. Toilet and sink. Stacks of boxes.
“So . . . if, say, you were to remove those boxes, add a shower, a little privacy wall, paint, plaster, put in a window . . .”
He turned and looked at the roomful on men. “Does anyone here think that coffin is a better ‘life-support module’ than a small bedroom and bathroom a few steps away from the portal controls?”
Anatoly rubbed his nose. “Well, he did get awfully sick in that thing. What do you think, Bern?”
The handler grinned. “I always did wonder if those coffins weren’t why Portalmakers had such short life expectancies. I think we could work out something better.”
Pity all handlers aren’t like this. “All right. Next check?”
“Nutrition delivery system . . .” Anatoly started smiling. “Food delivery. On-site kitchen. We’ll set that up. Next check. Waste elimination, got that lav already . . .”
Everyone was nodding.
“Support matrix . . . that’s all of us . . .”
“Plugged into the Portal Controls. Already done. But . . . ”
“But it’s made to be plugged and unplugged.” Kon grinned. “So I’ll do a little sightseeing, check out the local cuisine . . . as soon as the certificate comes back I’ll come up and inspect the Life Support Module, the nutrition delivery system and so forth. If there’s a problem with the cert, you may have to declare an emergency and get the Commerce flowing before being fully certified.”
They were moving boxes and taking measurements before he was out the door.
He hit the shops and found exactly what he wanted, checked the chain of portal schedules from Tier Three Serebryanyy to Home and back, and figured it would be at least three days before he had his cert.
If my handprint is also good for that sort of thing. I certainly won the cert race . . . but I was qualified in everything I applied for. Or at least I thought I was.
He ate lunch, and strolled through the local history museum. Very interesting, actually.
A very early lost colony? The “Natives” by their genetics, the descendants of a small colony, perhaps a quarter True, and the rest Servants from mostly English speaking roots. The Native dialect had been barely understandable English, after centuries of isolation. The population was all on this side of the (sort of) North American Continent, and was only fifty million as of the last census.
The Natives called the rare vestiges of Mentalist Talent “magic,” and the magicians were usually healers. Which explains their generally good health. After over three centuries of contact, the occurrence of magic was no longer so rare.
And the terms of their treaty were such that only Natives living in the city had to be chipped.
Kon thought that over. Not unheard of, but generally on Worlds with huge populations of Natives.
They’re unchipped because the people here don’t want to chip them.
And all those people out there, walking around glowing? Those aren’t visiting Natives. I think they’re not chipping . . . or chipping without zivvy, perhaps? No, they must be turning all the zivvy off as soon as it reaches the legal minimum length, not just turning off some and letting the ones going the right direction keep growing.
And not a single person up at the Portal facility protested the possibility of keeping Marlin out of the coffin.
Damn!
I really like this World.
A cheerful Anatoly called and told him to come back to the Portal bay. “So you can witness the Nutrition Delivery System.”
Good party. Excellent barbeque. A shower unit had been purchased and installed.
“The drain was interesting. I had to slice a hole through the floor, then, well, we gave up and got a plumber in to connect the pipes to the rest of the drain system. His opinion of whoever’d done the original drains was colorful. He gave me an estimate to redo the whole building’s drain system.”
“But we’ve got a mini kitchen installed right here. Now we just need to figure out the health monitoring and . . .” He broke off as Kon held up his bag.
“You mean, like a watch that tracks pulse, blood pressure, and blood glucose levels? A panic button for Marlin to hit?” Kon shrugged, and looked back at the Portalmaker. “If Marlin wants them. The level of monitoring isn’t specified. But if your handler has the monitor, he might not hover quite as much.”
A chuckle from Marlin, as he looked over at his handler. “You might finally get up the nerve to ask you-know-who for a date. This monitor sounds like a good way to give Bern some freedom. Me? I’ve got a miracle in sight, and I’m afraid to breathe for fear it’ll collapse.”
Kon eyed his cautious grip on a fork. “And physical therapy. If we can pull this off, we, you guys, whatever, can think about getting you back on your feet.”
The store room was empty, clean, and plastered, except for the big rectangle drawn on the outside wall.
“The window ought to be delivered tomorrow. I figured we ought to wait and really measure it before cutting.” Anatoly grinned over at him. “So Marlin has to sleep in the control room tonight, and probably tomorrow after we paint. Then he’ll be properly ‘installed in a life support module’ for full certification.”
Bern, finally introduced as Lord Bernhard Faust, eyed Marlin and cleared his throat. “And perhaps it’s time to retire for the night?”
Marlin smiled. “Reluctantly. I hope to see you tomorrow, Lord Konstantin. It has been a very great pleasure meeting you.”
Bern wheeled him away, and the staff all pitched in to clean up the portal bay.
Anatoly slapped Kon’s back. “C’mon. I’ve got a guest room.”
***
The house that Anatoly led him to was a fancy “Victorian” set on what looked like a full section. It was a bit overdue for mowing in front, and completely overgrown behind.
“Not mine, of course. I pretend I like the cheap rent from a company that no doubt can’t be traced to Hagen Jaeger.”
Kon looked around and grinned. “And it doesn’t come with lawn service.”
Anatoly laughed. “Unlike you, I have no interest in horses. Or is that just your wife?”
“I loved them when I was younger, and I’ve jumped back into loving them the last few years. I’ll admit though, that without meeting Ninochka, I’d probably never have thought about horses again.”
“So you aren’t going to take it up full time?”
“Not enough people trying to kill me to make it exciting.”
Anatoly started laughing. “Dammit. So, since we’re all buddy-buddy, how did you get into this Guardian insanity?”
“Well . . . see the Aslanov square on Home abuts the Zeller square. One morning when I was twelve, I was out near the boundary fence, with a pair of babies I was practically raising . . .”
