1911. Countdown; Year Seven of Ten
Thursday, December 22, 1910
Junior Ten Hagen showed up a little early for first shift. He took a cup of tea to his desk to fortify himself for twelve hours of cold disapproval from Fitzwilliam and probably a murder attempt disguised as a sparring session from D'Acres. He had known from the beginning that it would happen, but it was unexpectedly difficult. He admired and respected his Seniors. He reminded himself that the triad would be broken up in June anyway. To end it in disgrace was painful, though. At least Smitty, with another five years to go in his training, would have time to reconcile with his Engineer.
Sorenson stuck his head through the doorway. "Dutch. Did you hear what happened with your demon?"
"It's my demon now? Thought it was Iris'. I got kicked out yesterday after Spears and my Seniors got tired of yelling at me. I know it went to Judicial, and Judicial tried something really stupid with Auditing, who happens to be D'Acre's wife, which is why I probably won't survive the day. That's all I know."
"Judicial's now under Angelic management for exceeding their remit. That means 'assuming powers we didn't give you and we would like them back now.' We did a good thing. Tell you more at the party tonight." Sorenson vanished.
Dutch reviewed his Death Book. A busy shift ahead. Seven hours of Reaping, five of paperwork. The long winter nights and the cold wind always added to the List. He looked up as his Seniors arrived. D'Acres looked uncomfortable. Fitz looked...amused?
D'Acres looked past him at the wall, a sure sign of embarrassment. "Junior. My lady wife has required me to apologize for my overreaction yesterday. She has explained your part in her plan to expose Judicial to an Angelic examination."
Her plan? Oh. Iris had consulted Goodfellow, and Goodfellow had slotted them neatly into a pre-existing project. Auditing's protecting wings now extended over the Thursday Nighters. The Reapers got what they wanted, and Auditing got what they wanted. And Auditing's victory benefitted everyone.
"Therefore," continued D'Acres, "I do apologize. Please don't do it again, or if you must, warn us first. Tonight after our paperwork is complete, we will all adjourn to the Scythe and Skull for Mr. Humphries' Thursday Night social affair. Thus I shall demonstrate to Sarah that I have followed her orders as any sensible husband should."
"Yes, sir, of course," said Ten Hagen with equal dignity. This was quite an achievement, given that Fitz was grinning like a jack o' lantern in the background and half the office was listening outside the door.
Smitty had never in his brief existence in the Realm been left at liberty. He attended his Thursday classes, did the assignments and in three hours was bored to tears. Inactivity was maddening. He gathered his scythe designs and went to Supplies, seeking out Frances Ferris. She was preparing a large shipment for delivery. Smitty pitched in, ran through the loading checklist, checked the order against the packing list, and helped transport it. After that they sat down with his designs. She immediately pointed out a problem. "That long a blade puts the center of balance way up here, can't fight with it. You'll have to counterweight that without weakening the blade or making the whole thing too heavy."
They went to her manager. "I'm trying to design a scythe specifically for Supplies, sir, based on your current grasscutter model, with extra porting power for heavier freight and a blade designed for defense rather than Reaping. But it won't be any good if I don't understand the job it needs to do. May I work with her crew for the next week or so, after my classes? Here's my class schedule, sir. It's all first shift. I can work second or third and still complete my assignments."
"Will your Senior not want you at your regular duties, youngster?"
"Sir, I have been set down for a rules infraction. Two weeks. I hope to use the time to better my understanding of your requirements."
"Your Senior is?"
"Engineer Crawford, sir."
"Ah." A measuring look. "So you're Crawford's apprentice. Show me your designs...hmm...promising. Can you strengthen this bit here? We often see cracking in this area on ours. In emergencies, we have to use 'em as crowbars. And you'll want overstrike protection, but that's standard on heavier models, I believe? Very well. One moment."
The manager left and returned shortly. "You're on. You'll work second shift. You've sparred daily with various scythe models, right? Right." He turned to Ferris. "You've got twelve days to teach him the various ways we use our scythes, Frannie. Give him one of ours. Point out its weaknesses. Show him the procedure, then introduce him to some of our more exciting destinations. Include both porting and portal deliveries. Throw him in the deep end. Give him what he needs to build us something special."
"Sure, boss."
"Listen, Smithfield, I don't expect a masterpiece from a half-trained apprentice with limited experience. I understand you may need a few years to produce a working model. But I like your approach to design, and I want to see what you build after a little field training. Pay attention to Ferris. Don't get underfoot. Don't get killed. Let me see your first prototype. If they won't let you take it out of your workshop, invite me in."
"Yes, sir!"
Seven days later Smitty had scrapped his scythe design, reworked and scrapped two more, and was beginning to think he had something useable. Once he was allowed back at his bench and tools, he would be a very busy man indeed. He would not have time to follow up on the question Frannie had asked about his demon restraints. It was a damn good question, too, and it needed answering, but by someone further along in their training. Getting sidetracked right now would not make his Engineer happy. Smitty went to the Scythe and Skull on Thursday night.
The bar was full of the usual crowd. Smitty chatted with various friends until Franklin and Cole came in from the London Lab. Smitty waved them over. "Les, Donnie, I've a problem. You know the restraints I gave Dutch for his demon? Frances Ferris in Supplies asked a really good question about them. It's one I can't answer. I can't take time from my own assignments to figure it out. My Senior is already irritated at me. I think it's more in your line anyway. Can I tell you about it? I have a feeling that somebody should be looking at it. It may be nothing, but it also might be useful."
"Let me get us our pints, Smitty, then tell us all." Cole went over to the bar. Franklin smiled. "Always ready for a new idea. I wanted to talk to you about your restraints. Are you in bad trouble with your Engineer?"
"Let's just say I don't want to do anything to make it worse."
Donnie returned and handed Les his mild and bitter. "So, first, how did those restraints work?"
"Well, your demon detectors pick up the frequency that the demons port on. I bodged up a tiny transmitter that disrupts that frequency. I set one in the clasp that closes the restraints and sewed another to the strap for redundancy. It's strong enough to keep one demon from porting out; also seems to keep them to a single form."
"Oh," said Donnie. "That is fascinating. Can I see one of those?"
"Not right away. I'm expelled from the workshop, can't go back until the fifth of January. I have one in my bench drawer. I'll have to explain to Engineer Crawford why I want to take a device out of the workshop and give it to you. You might have to come in and examine it there."
"Understood. But Frances asked a question, you said?"
"She did. She said, 'So it keeps them from porting out. Can it keep them from porting in?' Right there I knew I had a project for somebody with lots more time and training."
Les sat back, wide-eyed. Cole shut his eyes. "Remind me of this the next time I start thinking I'm smart. Damn."
Les sipped his ale. "Oh, my. Oh, my. Oh...okay. Look. The restraints were reviewed and approved. We're used to thinking of them as illegal, but they are, right now, perfectly acceptable devices for further study. There is no reason that Donnie and myself, as Seniors at the London Lab, should not ask to see your design specs. Or call your Engineer and request the transmitter from your drawer. The Angels have your original set, right? We can ask about those, too, through the Lab. Our testing could hasten the path to production."
"Remember they're really short-range. But they might keep a small room safe if you set them in the ceiling or floor. You'll need a different power source."
Cole was scribbling in a notebook he'd pulled from his pocket. "Right, right, Les will talk to your Engineer in the morning. With any luck he'll hand everything over and forget the whole thing by next week. I know how busy he is. Bury yourself in your own projects when you get back, keep quiet until he's gotten over it. So a demon ports, and its destination blocks the port while the demon's in transit...does it get lost between start and arrival? Get thrown back to its start point? Get diverted, and if so, how far and in what condition? I suppose it's too much to hope that it explodes in a cloud of twinkling lights..."
Alan's Christmas present that year was a couple of Senior assistants. Eric had interviewed Medical's suggested convalescents, mostly by taking them out behind the building and sparring with them. He discarded one for mental inflexibility—Alan would have bounced him, no question, most unsuited to London's diversity and advanced technology—and two for still needing more time to heal. His final selections were both from large cities which did not want them back on the payroll until they were in prime condition. Slingby figured they were good for six weeks at least before their bosses began pushing for their return. Especially since London would pay half their salaries.
Eric sat them down, explained what their duties would be if Alan accepted them, and obtained their pledges to keep him safe. He then put red ribbon bows in their lapels and presented them to Alan for a job interview.
He lingered outside Alan's door until he heard laughter. Reassured, he went off about his business.
Alan went comparatively easy on Duncan and Mallory for the first two days. Having established their physical limits, he then proceeded to stretch their minds.
They went with him to Scythes, where they were astounded by the machinery and by the Senior Engineer they met there. Alan asked after an apprentice who was absent. The Engineer snorted and harrumphed and said the kid was on loan to another Division. Obviously there was a story there.
They went to Supplies, where their arms and brains were filled with maps. They held maps open on tables while Alan and Supplies Senior Vollmer discussed the politics of the human realm and the terrible effects to follow. They witnessed a handover of a shipment of Angel blades, during which Alan had a friendly conversation with a flock of winged beings they had never before considered as people.
They went to Maintenance, which they had never before seen as a separate and powerful Division. They met the devious and clever Senior Richards ("Just so you know, Alan, Russia's Academy just opened a new campus. Please tell Eric. We've still no idea of who's been ratting on you. Now that it's general knowledge, they've gone to ground. Give us time. They'll regain confidence and start up again. You two, somebody's been spying on this man with intent to kill. Keep watch.")
They escorted Alan to the Academy. They listened to his lectures, which were nothing at all like the ones they had attended when newly awakened. They watched him teach combat and scythe handling, gaining respect for his skills. They witnessed a London office full of interns helping with the eternal Collections paperwork and learning from the Seniors. Eric explained how a Branch might seek outstanding Reaper candidates among the students nearing graduation.
They accompanied Alan to the London Lab where Angels and Reapers worked together in relative harmony; they met Research Seniors who lived in a whirl of creativity; they saw portals and alarm screens and the people who watched them. They stepped through a portal and learned about the War Room.
They resided in Senior Housing and were naturally drawn into the common room community. They were intrigued by the cheerful communication between Seniors of different Divisions. The ideas being shared were wonderfully interesting. They learned the story of the Engineering Apprentice who had not been present in his workshop. They escorted Alan from his office to the Thursday Night gatherings at the Scythe and Skull and met that apprentice and his roommate. They also met a wide array of people from every Division and several countries. They watched Alan fade into the background to listen and fade forward to ask or answer questions; panicked briefly when he disappeared; found him in the back room listening to a group of elders describing their experiences in previous wars to an attentive audience. They resolved to keep a closer watch when he was trying to go unnoticed in a crowd. They did note that the Thursday Nighters seemed a happier group than Reapers usually were back home.
And once, when Alan was particularly stressed, they followed him to the Palm House in Kew Gardens. He strolled about for a while, paying particular attention to flowering plants. Finally he smiled, said "Thanks. Better now," and they all went back to the office. There Alan consoled Section Manager Brock on the proposed replacement of his beloved Comptometer with a 1912 Comptograph 16 Column Listing, Adding, Calculating Machine; "You're not losing Maybelle. You're hiring her an assistant. Consider her promoted to a supervisory position with training responsibilities. Be sure your Juniors become expert in all her functions."
Duncan and Mallory agreed between themselves that it was interesting how Admins could be as barking mad as Reapers and, like Reapers, still function perfectly well in spite of occasionally baying at the moon or the streetlamps.
After two months, Alan asked Eric for two new assistants. "Mine are fully recovered and ready to Reap. I want them back on their home grounds agitating for the advantages we enjoy in London. Give me my next pair of minders so I can start corrupting them."
"Ye evil wee man. Is two months a long enough span for your purposes? I can pick a couple in need of longer recovery if you prefer."
"They have to be able to defend themselves and keep up with me. Senior enough to achieve change in their home offices. The only other requirement is that they hail from a city that's not brought itself up to speed. I'd like a week's handover time before Duncan and Mallory go back on their own payrolls. Two months means I can send out a dozen a year."
"Ye're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"What, me? Merely following Will's orders."
"Suppose I find you one two-month convalescent and another who needs a month to six weeks. You can overlap them so the older can train the newer, and maybe produce two or three extra agents in a year."
"We could try that. They've got to be here long enough to stop being amazed, long enough to get comfortable with it, to become unwilling to lose all the advantages when they go home. Six weeks might not quite do it."
"Let's see what I can find. You can tell me your conclusions when they're ready to leave."
"Look for foreign candidates, too."
"Oh, you do want to cause trouble, don't ye."
"Orders. Following orders. We are all Reapers. Britain's ahead of the game. Hell is hungry. Time is getting short."
"Aye. So it is. I'll go talk to Medical."
The soundproofed Meeting Room E, April 1911, Humphries and Slingby
"I am now a consultant. Will's sold my services to foreign Branches setting up War Rooms. I'm going to write a set of directions for preplanning. Instructions, lists and layouts. I'll send them on ahead. At least the purpose of these rooms won't need to be disguised. With luck that will minimize the time I have to be there."
"How long will you be out of the office?"
"I'll be making day trips to supervise training and make sure their Monitors and Garrisons are linked in and cooperating. I'll be part of a team; two Monitors, Angel and Reaper, and a Senior Angel of high military rank to talk to the local Garrison. His name's Sandriel. Artois recommends him as a capable officer.
I'm to report any obstructiveness or personality clashes that impede cooperation. The Angels will straighten those out. I have to make sure all these Rooms' portals are interlinked. That may anger some Monitor Angels or Garrison chiefs. That's Uriel's problem. I don't speak German or Russian. Will I need translators?"
"No. Just listen to them. Language means naught to the dead. Understanding is one of the things we're given at awakening, or maybe a common language. Native words and accents can bleed back in after a while, like me burr and Vanderveldt's Africaans and D'Acres' Eton-plummy tones, and local styles can get picked up if ye're too long in one place, but all Reapers understand each other."
"That's good. A transport portal is going to be installed on campus so I can go directly from my work site to classes and back. Other days when I don't teach I'll use our War Room portal. That will save time and I'll never enter the human realm. I won't need my bodyguards, not with an Archangel along."
"You'll take them anyway. Where are you going?"
"So far I have Brussels which is the central Branch for Belgium. Then Strasbourg, Cologne, Liège, Luxembourg, Bazentin, Verdun, Olsztyn."
"The Angels must have new information. Well, that tells us where the land war is going to start, or at least where a lot of the dying will be done. Lord have mercy on them all. Sea bases?"
"Oh, yes. Second phase. The sea is always hungry."
"This is too much. There aren't enough hours in the day. Ye need to delegate. How good are yer teaching assistants? Anything to do with the War Room needs Reapers, not Admins. Look ye; portals work both ways; demons can come through. Unless ye have Angels on staff, yer gonna need a lot of experienced fighters taking up space in that room."
"The new portals have separate controls for communication and transport. We can see the destination without allowing anyone through. Franklin and Cole have a new scheme to keep demons from porting through en masse instead of running through individually. Angels could come in through their own portals from the Garrisons and Monitoring stations. You're right, though. I can't do it all. I need to look about. We've some talented third-year Admins who can handle some of my office duties, and interns who will go full-time in June. The Angel blade deliveries require us both, though. And I won't give up teaching. We have taught the Academy not to censor me, but my assistants can't defy orders to strip certain subjects out of my lectures. "
"Yer man Brock has a talent for defensive office design, remember, and he now has eight people who know how to frame up a Budget and keep the daily books. Let him do your sample layouts. Give him a half-day's training on the hidden capabilities of our War Room. Tell him to talk to Franklin. They'll suggest any number of improvements."
"Thank you. How could I have overlooked that? And Marisa Solway can pick and train office-duty assistants for me. She's protective of us, it's rather charming. I think she knows more about my paperwork than I do. All the weekly stuff. End of Month, End of Quarter, End of Year reports. They can do them for Will as well as I can. I'll just have to proof and initial."
"Yer current minders are going to need replacing before yer done with all this. Better leave a little time free for the new ones to get used to the job. Will can't complain. They're his idea, after all. Give him some warning, though."
Brock studied the London War Room with great interest. He asked Les Franklin for a tour of the London Lab. He thought and doodled squares and rectangles on several sheets of paper, then went to Eric for his latest thoughts on the coming war. He pored over Alan's maps. Finally he asked to see the room that Brussels proposed to convert into an action center. It appeared that they thought a broom closet with a telephone would be appropriate.
"What do you mean by completely unsuitable, Monsieur Brock?"
Brock opened their communications portal to London. "Mr. Humphries, may I bring in a team from Brussels to examine the War Room? They need to see the various equipment and functionalities required."
Alan asked an intern to arrange tea and coffee. He and his bodyguards went to the War Room and opened the Mass Transit Portal. Brock led a trio of officials through. Between them, Alan and Brock demonstrated everything. Alan summoned Maintenance to explain the details of the construction and the support beams. The officials went quickly from suspicion to avarice. One went back through the portal to fetch the people who would actually do the work. Alan called in a couple of Monitors to explain the screens, especially the new one which would show alarms on a map of Belgium and surrounding countries. The officials were surprised that there was also a communications portal to the London Garrison. Alan mentally tagged that as evidence of possible non-cooperation between Brussels' Angels and Reapers.
Eric had a quiet talk with one or two of the visitors. Brussels went home determined to have an action center much bigger and better than London's. "That's fine," said Eric. "They're going to need it. This worked well. Have the Branches come here to see what can be done. In a month or so, the Brussels War Room will be another place for Branches to visit. You just travel for final inspections and to make sure they're all getting along. Mind you, the Brussels Garrison sounds like an unresponsive bunch."
"Yes, I got that feeling too. I'll warn the rest of the inspection team. We'll go over there in a couple of weeks when their transport portal's installed."
Alan returned from Brussels, limping and bandaged. His bodyguards were also injured. He sent them home to heal. After Alan had reported to Will, Eric took him home, fed him and helped him into bed. His left side was badly bruised, his knee swollen. Eric made his partner a pot of his favorite tea and pulled a chair to the side of the bed. "So what happened, me Light? Were the amusements of the city too much for ye?"
"We did have some excitement. Oh, this is good, thank you." Sip. "Before we went, I warned Sandriel that there might be some friction between Brussels and their Garrison, possibly extending into the Monitor station there. So it wasn't a surprise, really, when we tested their new comm portal between Branch and Garrison and got a surly fellow telling us not to bother him with our trivia. Sandriel called him a slothful lay-about and demanded to talk to his superior.
"The Garrison commander came charging into the Branch in battle mode. You know, ten feet tall with sword and shield. Forgot, or didn't know, that the building's scaled to humans. Banged his head on the ceiling and fell back on his arse. Sandriel shifted mode and attacked. We Reapers got trampled and kicked around during their debate. I opened up their new transit portal to a remote unpopulated area. Sandriel grabbed his opponent and dragged him through. I shut down the transport function. Then we Reapers picked each other up and straightened the furniture while the Angels tore up a stretch of the Gobi Desert. Quite an impressive sandstorm. I think it's been a long time since the Brussels Branch had a good laugh.
"Sandriel came back with some friends, looking every inch a winner. He says the Brussels Angel is now a Fallen. Uriel has him and is flushing his cronies out of the Garrison there. Like London, they will promote somebody who's kept the faith and let him rebuild. I pointed out they only have maybe three years to do it.
"They didn't want to hear that, so the Angels are probably mad at me again. Um, I was a little angry at them, too. I may have reminded them how fragile we are in comparison to them. Asked them what part of 'cooperation' covered bashing their allies to flinders while they settled internal disputes. Asked them why they needed a Reaper to tell 'em when a Garrison had gone sour.
"Then Sandriel and I apologized to each other. He and I are fine. The remaining Brussels Garrison Angels will probably whine to the London Garrison. Artois will scold me. Spears will scold me. Madame will scold me. Tomorrow I'll hide at the Academy to delay all that scolding. Might sit out the combat classes. More tea, please?"
Eric poured tea, helped Alan into a comfortable position for sleep, and said, "Next time take me as one of your bodyguards. You need someone who is not a convalescent when you go into unknown territory."
"Agreed," said Alan wearily. "I missed you today. My bodyguards couldn't protect themselves and me against rampaging celestials, and I couldn't protect both of them. You probably would have kept me from berating the Angels, too. Much better that we go together. Partners."
Eric took the tea tray and cups to the kitchen, did the washing-up, and returned to the bedroom. Alan was dozing, face lined with pain. Eric sat down in the chair again and took Alan's hand in his. Alan sighed and relaxed into sleep. Eric opened the bond a little to hasten healing.
The bond had been balancing all afternoon. He hadn't really noticed, hadn't been affected as Alan was when Eric was injured. Perhaps it was because Alan was so much smaller. Not as much strength to give. Seemed to have lost some weight, too. Cheekbones prominent, eyes shadowed. Fate was a right bitch, so she was. In the darkening room he gave love and hope and relief from pain, and watched the bruises fade.