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 EPILOG: Areté

 

Ambros dropped in on a ridge near the top of the South hills of Eugene, in his own Line. Trees lay fallen, broken, and some of them scorched or burned. He found an undamaged trunk that jutted out over the dropoff and climbed up. He used his commonwealth laptop as a telescope, holding it in front of him and surveying the damage.


Hardly a house remained unharmed. Whole neighborhoods were wasted, burned or smashed by the weapons brought to bear by the various sides. He shook his head in dismay.


Bright blue flags on tall poles indicated the presence of Commonwealth Guilds. Warrior Guilds guarded key spots and important intersections; ambassadors from Diplomacy Deme camped on the remains of City Hall, coordinating rescue and reconstruction efforts; Tech and Road Guilds worked with present and former City of Eugene workers to restore electric and sewer systems; Medical Guild were scattered around the city, treating wounds and isolating people with bites for anti-viral treatments.


There was a column of smoke rising from across the river. He zeroed in on that; it was what he’d come to check out. He sighed as he studied the tactical situation at the Riverside Mall.

 

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: The Aftermath, With Ethical Dilemmas

 

Ambros, Arrenji, and Voukli dropped into a plaza in Paris: obviously a version of Paris, despite the lack of several important landmarks from his own Line’s version.


His visor showed him three layers of force fields, one encompassing the plaza, another wrapped around the outer walls of a smallish fortified cathedral, and a third closely mirroring the walls of the cathedral itself.


“We’re sure he’s in there, then?” Ambros holstered his pistol and relaxed a bit.


Voukli shrugged: “Reds and Blacks have been pressing him and his bodyguards for three days. Traced their last Saltation to here. And this is where the Squids thought he’d go, at the end. His ‘last resort’ they thought.”


“They can’t Jump through our force fields,” said Arrenji: “If the Emperor is going to escape us now, he’ll have to do it on foot.”


Voukli nodded: “He’s supposed to have four women with him. At any one time three of them are armed and armored; whichever one isn’t armored is for his pleasure.”


Arrenji made a face.


Red Warrior Guild soldiers massed in the square near them. Arrenji made a handsign and they approached and spread out along the walls, eventually surrounding the compound completely.


Twenty Black Warriors dropped in, atop the walls, facing the cathedral. Arrenji made another handsign and one of the squads of techs moved forward. After a minute, the heavy oak door disintegrated.


The Blacks jumped down and charged the cathedral, smashing windows and breaking doors and entering through every opening so created.


Red Warriors flowed through the open gate, taking the inside of the wall and laying down cover fire throughout the gardens.


Gunfire broke out, the loud reports of ATL slugthrowers and the sound of blasters, countered by the buzz of Commonwealth microwave projectors and the zing of the Black’s own longarms.


Ambros heard the all-clear even as the Magistriae jogged forward. He followed close behind as they passed into the nave. Blacks were staged on either side of the vestry door, and on the dais behind the altar. More of them herded a sad-looking trio of prisoners into a corner; others dragged the corpses of their enemies aside, leaving a clear path for the Sacred Band trio.


The inner force field followed their movements, contracting as they approached their target.


“Stand ready,” Arrenji said, calm and sarcastic: “We’re about to call on his Majesty Jean IV, self proclaimed Emperor of the Multiverse. I expect he’s not going to welcome us...”

 

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Rage and Sorrow

 

“Fucking hell!” Ambros shouted: “Everybody down!” Two dozen bullets hit his armor, from front and back, and multiple hits spattered against his visor.


Two bullets hit on gambeson: one on his shoulder, one on his butt. He winced.


They dove for ditches and low spots.


Something fell in front of him: two bullets, fused together point-to-point.


“Megálos! Bit off more than we can chew! Got at least forty Panzers and a dozen Tigers here!”


“Akuo sas. I’ll get you a Phalanx and an ekato.”


“Efxharisto...Heather! What’s up?”


Heather shouted into a walkie-talkie: “I got help coming! Hold the high school if you can!” She rolled to face him: “My people are in the high school, with a bunch of locals and some US Army Reserves from Corvallis. They have a lot of weapons and ammo, but nothing that can touch these tanks.”


A Panzer approached the front door of the school and fired its cannon point blank, obliterating the door and blowing a huge hole in the wall. SS infantry charged in and a nasty-sounding gunfight began. Screams echoed.


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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: All the Shit Hits Everywhere

 

“I am not a committed pacifist. I would not hold that it is under all imaginable circumstances wrong to use violence, even though the use of violence is in some sense unjust. I believe that one has to estimate relative justices. But the use of violence and the creation of some degree of injustice can only be justified on the basis of the claim and the assessment—which always ought to be undertaken very, very seriously and with a good deal of skepticism—that this violence is being exercised because a more just result is going to be achieved.”

― Noam Chomsky

 

The room lit up, the flash from outside bright enough to wake him from a deep sleep. He rolled to his feet, shielding his eyes. A deep, throaty “boom” filled his ears and he cursed in several languages:


“Jannet! Wake up! Now!” He used his Command voice, well aware that she had never before heard that tone from him.


She rolled over, muzzy with sleep, knuckling the matter from her eyes: “What? ‘Wha...”


He interrupted, still in Command mode, calm but firm: “Get dressed. Wake up Kim and Jimmy, then get upstairs. Wake up Marie and Luisa. Then put in your contacts, and grab your bag. Meet in the front yard in ten minutes.”


She stared at him, puzzled. She began to do as he’d ordered, slowly and reluctantly.


Then the ground wave from the explosion rolled through, shaking the house and bringing down some wallboard from the ceiling above her.


“Shit!” she yelled, and started throwing her clothes around, donning some, searching through the pockets of each item, looking for her phone.


 



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 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Satori(s) and a Concert in Salem

 

The rest of April passed, for Ambros, in what had become his “normal”: a blur of small but important tasks and instantaneous voyages to diverse places. He did more of the ‘Assemblyist Missionary’ visits every few days, pressing the Wobblies to find him targets. He lost track of how many he’d done.


Sometimes he came home from those trips hopeful, other times downcast and angry.


Around Tax Day he briefed the ‘highest Status’ Warriors from twenty Allied Lines on “what to expect when the coming multi-Timeline Incursion begins.”


“At least that bunch didn’t disbelieve me, or doubt my predictions,” he said to Luisa and Marie.


His weapons skills improved, to the point that he had a hard time recalling all of the lessons he'd learned: ‘Those techniques are now, each and all, part of my “style”. New stuff grows from the old, almost without me thinking about it.’


As his training advanced, his body changed, so subtly that he hardly noticed for a long time.


After a particularly grueling session with Arrenji, he went to shower in the Command Complex, instaed of at the City Baths. He caught a glimpse of himself, nude, in the wall-sized mirror. He stared for a moment.

 

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Sardonic-Synchronic Bleed-over 

From an Adjacent Timeline

 

Ambros deplaned at LaGuardia, groaning from the discomfort of six hours in a confined space. His left leg tingled and cramped briefly; multiple wounds demanded an accounting.


‘It wouldn’t do to arrive in New York by Shifter, with the damned Intelligence services watching the airport.’


It occurred to him that he could have Shifted to Cleveland or Pittsburg and suffered from a shorter flight: ‘I’ll do that next time...and there’s sure to be a next time, more’s the pity.’ Then he thought: ‘You know what? The hell with that nonsense. I should mark a restroom stall while I’m here, and just drop in there. Let all of the spies worry about how I get to wherever I am...’ 


His briefcase and shoulder bag were all he had for luggage, so he passed through the checkpoints without undue delay. 


He detoured to a nearby restroom and marked the stall nearest the door by creating a Path on his Shifter.


That task complete, he exited and looked around. He followed a series of signs that said: EXIT or TO TAXIS until he saw daylight and doorways to the world outside the terminal.


A man in a chauffer’s uniform stood among others similarly dressed, holding a sign that read “ROTHAKIS”.


Ambros shook his head and limped slightly on a beeline for the fellow, who glanced at a photo and spoke:


“Mr Rothakis? This way, please...”


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 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Feelings; Greece in 1940 and 2009; Ambassador Harvey

 

Ambros dropped in to a spot deep in a huge brake of blackberry brambles. He pushed an invisible tarp aside, revealing the small encampment concealed by the Commonwealth light-bending material. The month of February had come in; it was colder and rainier than January, a truly miserable time to be sleeping rough or camping in leaky nylon tents.


Since the authorities had broken up the organized camps in the Swamp, the various sub-groups of the hapless and homeless had made shift to find other places to be. Ambros knew that there were several in that area, along the river downstream from the Rose Gardens. 


Arlen stood there, tears on his face, his panic button in hand. Ambros swallowed, knowing before Arlen spoke what must have happened.


“When?” he asked.

 

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 CHAPTER NINETEEN: Death and Birth

 

For a few minutes, it seemed to Ambros that the whole world became a continuous explosion. The communicator in his helmet spoke quietly in Megálos’ voice: “Stay down, soldier girls and boys, turn on your beacons if you’re hit. This is bad shit going down...”


Ambros had to agree: “I’m supposed to be helping the Red Warrior Guild get out of Bangui, since they got trapped...”


A bomb went off and Ambros yelled: “Way too damn close, Commander!”


“Endaxi...I got a read on position and I sent...”


Megálos’ voice faded out and Ambros’ “radio” gave him only static. He looked at his visor and saw a set of coordinates: ‘I don’t know if that’s the location of the artillery or not...’


He shrugged and spoke aloud: ”I really don’t wanna stay here, though.”


More explosions, all around his position: ‘Is this random, or am I bracketed?’


He sent the coordinates to his Shifter by a flick of his eyes. 


Another shell landed about twenty feet to the west of him: “Oh, fuck...” 


The shell didn’t go off: ‘A dud...’

 

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 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: The Verge of Enlightenment

 

 
Ambros sat on the table, his body drenched with sweat, his cloned leg aching like it was newly attached. The Physical Therapy Magistros sat on a stool across the room, making notes on a lapscroll. He spoke to the Technican who’d been twisting and testing his leg: “What’s your opinion?”


She said: “He’s good to go. If he keeps up his exercises, he should have no more trouble. The leg will ache in wet weather, and maybe if he’s under stress...for perhaps another year or so, but that’s normal.”


“Endaxi,” said the Magistros. The fellow grinned: “Good health to you Spathos, and may we never see you here in the Temple again.”


“That’d be fine by me,” Ambros said, a little grumpy. He sent a note to Combat Medical, announcing his full recovery, and copied that note to the Sacred Band chat space on the Kyklo.


Then he walked out, both legs equally pained, as had not been the case since he’d been injured: ‘I suppose that twisting both legs past discomfort and affirming that the injury is no longer affecting my gait was worthwhile...’


He suspected that Temple physicians and techs got a rise out of doing PT on Warriors: ‘Just to see how much suffering we can take.’


He dismissed that thought as unworthy. He muttered: “Now I need another shower, though, and clean clothes.” He walked right past the Baths, wanting the cleansing power of the ‘magic’ lockers in the Command Complex, rather than a random outfit from the Laundry. 

 



The trip to Tokyo for his now-routine speech and Q & A had been, until now...routine.


‘Weird that jetting around the planet to talk about “The End Of The World As We Know It” has become so everyday for me.’


He put that aside: ‘My sparring partner here is a shihan: a sensei’s sensei. Relax and concentrate...’


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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: The Consequences of Folly

 

Ambros found himself on his back, in some sort of shallow depression in the ground. He could see trees, nearby and in the distance, trees of an unfamiliar sort outlined against a dark cloudy sky. He smelled smoke, and the putrid smell of burning human flesh.


Something expoded, not too far away and his adrenaline spiked: ‘I remember...’

He’d been called away from teaching a lesson at Red Skolo, to help out in 
Republique Centralafrique, Line Seven: ‘Situation did bite back, like I thought it might.’

He moved his limbs, one by one, and just a bit, to see if he’d been injured: ‘Apparently not.’

Then his memory returned...


“I dropped in on Megálos’ coordinates, but I found only his helm. Before I knew what hit me I was in a firefight, surrounded by three separate forces all bent on slaughtering each other.’


They’d only been shooting at him by accident.


He remembered seeing the shell crater and opting to get out of the line of fire. Then waking up...


He rolled over, and checked his MPS: ‘I’m where I’m supposed to be,’ he thought: ‘But nobody else who’s supposed to be here is.’

 

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 CHAPTER SIXTEEN: The Grimbold Way; Africa Vienna and Budapest; Mark and Jimmy.

 
Ambros said: “I think I’m ready...”


“Will you be back tonight?” Kim asked.


“50-50.” Ambros replied: “it’s likely that I’ll run into friends, get invited to dinner or parties, drink too much, and sleep by somebody’s fire. If not, I’ll be back tonight.”


“Tomorrow morning, then,” she laughed: “I’ll stay the night, and see you when you drop in.”


Ambros also laughed. 


He had his SCA armor on, rattan arming sword and longsword and his shield in a duffle over his shoulder. He picked up a nine-foot carbon fiber pike from the floor beside him. He waved good-bye to Kim, and dropped in to a spot near the Main Battle Field at a site in Pennsylvania.


‘This is the biggest, most elaborate encampment of SCAdians in the world: every year in August right here on this ground,’ he mused.


He looked around; no one paid him any mind. ‘As I expected. I dropped in right beside the Field, and no one even noticed!’ He laughed to himself: ‘The sheer number of people hereabouts, as the first big battle of the day approaches, almost guarantees that my sudden appearance would go unnoticed.’ Being in armor, he fit the scene so well that even someone who looked right at him as he manifested would simply convince themselves of some explanation.

 

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 CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Bruce Visits the Fair; A Blast From the Past; A New Leg To Stand On. 

 


Ambros and Bruce dropped in to the Fair site on Saturday around noon. He used the wild area near Daredevil Palace as their drop-in: with his Shifter still active, he could see hundreds of Traces, the spoor of Commonwealthers visiting the Fair. He sent a mental command to the Shifter, shutting it down. It bore a distinct resemblance to a hockey puck, though it was fractionally lighter. He stowed it in the pocket on the front of his kilt.


He looked his companion over and thought: ‘Bruce is a Giant Ant, for all practical purposes. Oh, there are a lot of small differences...and big ones, too; like the Squid sticking out of the top of its head.’


Most people would see Bruce and call it an Ant, though: ‘We certainly did, when the Commonwealth first ran into them.’


He knew that the creature had an internal skeleton as well as its chitinous carapace. ‘...and the cyborg aspect, don’t forget that part. Most of its memory is in the mechanical-biological computer set in its thorax.’


Two metallic tentacles dangled from the silvery rectangular panel set into its carapace. Occasionally these waved around, often in sync with the antennae on the “Ant” part’s head.


‘The machine stores memory and works logically. The Squid feels emotion—exactly what sort is hard to say— and provides motivation. The actual Ant part is more or less a biological bicycle, although with senses that the other two parts lack. And these three organisms have been a commensal and collective intelligence for at least several million years.’


He spoke aloud: “This is gonna be a riot. I hope not actually...”


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