Sharon Green - Mists of the Ages

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Mists of the AgesMists of the Ages

Sharon Green

1988

v2. Lots of scanning errors, most fixed. Spell-checked and italics added.

Sharon Green has written:

The Far Side Of Forever

Lady Blade, Lord Fighter

Mists Of The Ages

The Rebel Prince

The Terrilian Series

The Warrior Within

The Warrior Enchained

The Warrior Rearmed

The Warrior Challenged

The Warrior Victorious

The Jalav: Amazon Warrior Series

The Crystals Of Mida

An Oath To Mida

Chosen Of Mida

The Will Of The Gods

To Battle The Gods

The Diana Santee Series

Mind Guest

Gateway To Xanadu

Dedication:

This one, with apologies, is for, in alphabetical order;

Robert Adams and Pamela Crippen Adams,

Alexis Gilliland and Dolly Gilliland,

Joel Rosenberg and Felicia Hermann Rosenberg.

Six people who are delightfully easy to like.

Chapter 1

I stood in the middle of the very posh office, looking around by the light of

the faint glow coming from the eight-foot desk, trying to feel where the

hidey-hole was. With the building shut down for the night most of the

maintenance systems were on low-power standby, leaving only the security checks

fully active and alert. If you stop to listen you can hear maintenance systems,

but security nets can only be detected by instruments or nerve endings. I’d used

both to get through the net, and now stood in low-power silence trying to detect

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where the safe spot had been put.

Even the heavy shadows couldn’t hide the position of the wall vault from me, and

I had to turn my back on the corner before it would stop jumping up and down in

my face, waving its arms trying to get my attention. Sometimes the talent of

finding things like that makes itself more of a handicap than a help, getting in

your way when it’s the really obscure location you’re trying to pinpoint. The

wall vault would have illegal documents and negotiable securities and a good

chunk of cash and possibly even jewelry and drugs that were exchangeable for

cash, but I had no use for frivolities and no time to waste picking them up. I

was after something a lot more delicate in nature and valuable in potential, a

special prize that would not be kept with everything else.

Turning away from the wall vault faced me toward one of the rows of windows, the

one that had been on my left when I’d entered the office. The second row had

faced me when I’d come in and now decorated most of the wall to the right.

Corner offices had been high status just about forever, but wouldn’t have been

quite as popular if the occupants had to wash all those windows they were so

proud of. The thought made me grin into the near dark I stood in, a little

female humor injected into an otherwise dull time, and then I began laughing

softly instead of grinning. What I had thought of as a joke was my subconscious

noticing something the rest of me hadn’t, and I was forced to admire the skill

that had almost gotten it past me. The safe spot in that office was very well

situated, but “almost” doesn’t make the mark.

I moved carefully around the desk and approached the second window-section from

the left, every sense I had extended and alert. It seemed possible that some

part of the floor would be pressure sensitive, and I found out rather quickly

that it certainly was. Once I discovered that, it was back to the desk to check

for the controls that would not be part of the general systems, but once found

the switches weren’t difficult to neutralize. They couldn’t be turned off

without activating a different set of alarms, of course, something a large

number of my contemporaries had learned the hard way, but setting them to

neutral didn’t produce the same results.

Neutral was off enough to suit my purposes, and let me turn away from the desk

to examine what I’d found. The window-section that had caught my attention was

no window-section, and with the system deactivated I was able to get a good look

at the four-foot by four-foot safe spot. The repeater screen that covered it

most of the time was excellently made, but that very excellence had been its

greatest flaw. The other windows in the office were filthy with the usual city

grime that settles on everything no matter how often washing is done, but that

section of window was measurably cleaner. The system designer hadn’t been stupid

enough to leave it spotless, but had erred on the short side when it came to

“dirty enough.” Most people would never have noticed something like that, but

that’s what makes me more valuable than most people.

There was a fairly complex maze lock on the safe spot entry, but maze locks, as

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they say, are only good for keeping out the honest. Opening it took no more than

a few minutes, and then I was able to slide the entry down out of my way so that

I might look at what it normally hid. Only four of the dozen or so compartments

were filled, two with off-planet bank notes that might well have been

counterfeit, a third with a large, tightly-stoppered vial filled with something

bright yellow that glowed very faintly, and a fourth with a narrow envelope

which was clearly from an expensive set of stationery. I took the envelope and

folded it, stuffed it inside a pocket of my belt, then put the safe spot entry

back where it belonged.

Returning everything to normal took almost as long as deactivating it had, but

under those circumstances it wasn’t a waste of time. Once I’d rechecked the last

set of circuits I’d worked, I connected the final lead that meshed everything

back into place, then was able to disconnect my diddle box, allowing the next

intrusion signal generated to go to the security force board instead of a

dead-end panel in the box. I’d been taught to cover the possibility that I

wasn’t as good as I thought I was and would therefore set off some kind of alarm

during the prowl, and found it wise to never forget the lesson. Seero had taught

me that, just as he’d taught me all the rest, but I’d learned on my own that

there were times when all the caution in the Empire just wasn’t enough to make a

difference.

I left the building through a maintenance duct that led to the parking level of

the building next door, stayed out of range of the scanners until I was back in

a normal, street-type bodysuit, then ambled to my jump-around with all the

non-concern of any woman who knows she’s parked in a total visibility area. Not

only are there no blind spots in a t.v. area, anyone stepping or driving into

the section activates real-time monitoring by the duty guards. If an emergency

happens they can get there fast, and they usually make the effort to move. There

are cash bonuses and public recognition each month for the fastest response to

any activated emergency, and any team logging twelve wins gets put on a roster

of perpetual commendation.

Gryphon was a world that knew the benefits in paying for what it wanted, and

what it wanted was maximum effort from the people whose job it was to protect

others. Substantial annual salaries attracted the best, bonuses and public

commendations kept them; with those who couldn’t afford to have the notoriety,

stroking was arranged on a somewhat more discreet level.

My jump-around unlocked itself at my approach, and I unobtrusively checked the

back before getting in and starting it up. I didn’t really expect to find anyone

hiding in the back seat, but when you know how to get around t.v. areas and

approach locks, you tend to remember that others can do the same. No one should

have known where I was and what I was doing, but that didn’t mean no one did;

the faster you learned should-haves can turn quickly into dids, the better your

chances became of surviving.

I had casually thrown my shoulder bag to the front seat beside me, but once I

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was out of the parking level and skimming along a concourse, my main priority

became getting the contents of the bag property seen to. I wasn’t due to deliver

the envelope I’d taken for another two and a half hours; simply carrying it with

me would have been possible but not terribly bright. I was scheduled to visit

some old friends during the time I had free, but not everyone around them would

also be friends. If you make a habit of wiggling your backside at the fates, you

can’t really complain when they arrange a suitable response to the gesture.

Not being the sort to make gestures for no reason, by the time I reached the

nightclub district I had my prowling suit, tools, and belt all neatly tucked

away in the safe spot in my Jump-around. No hiding place is really safe if its

location can change as soon as you turn your back on it, but many times half

measures are better than none at all. Even if someone managed to steal the

Jump-around, they would only be close to the rest, not have it.

And having the Jump-around stolen wasn’t that far out of the question, not in

that neighborhood. Once off the concourse I drove more slowly, paying attention

to the darkened, dirty streets and watching those who roamed about on them. On

the outer fringes of the district were most of the nightclubs the city boasted,

and the foot traffic moved easily under bright lights with easy companionship

and enjoyment. About three blocks beyond that the district changed, and although

there were still clubs they weren’t the sort to announce their whereabouts with

lights and laughter. Those who patronized this sub-district usually had money

and the urge for anonymity, a combination which encouraged the presence of those

who most liked to take things whose absence would not be reported to the proper

authorities. If you’re only going to steal what’s safe, I don’t understand why

you’d bother, but that’s a personal prejudice. Others don’t took at it the same,

which is really too bad.

The parking lot of the Dark of the Moon Club sat beneath the delicate blue glow

of its name sign, at least three-quarters of it neatly and quietly filled. I

pulled into a spot between a limo and a new-model sports job, which was the best

I could do in the way of protective prevention. In company like that, my little

jump-around was hardly worth looking at, and that, hopefully, meant it would

still be there when I came out.

Getting out of my transportation brought me the stale but familiar smell of the

air in that district, air that seemed to be holding itself as still as possible

to avoid being noticed. It was an attitude that seemed to be shared by a lot of

the denizens of the area, and one that had never failed to annoy me. I could

understand not wanting to be noticed at certain times, but to spend your lire

slipping from shadow to shadow, afraid to be touched by the light of day, afraid

to be seen by anyone who might take note and remember. I had grown up in that

area and learned a lot of things there, but that particular attitude wasn’t one

of them. I enjoyed standing tall no matter who was watching, and if the day ever

came that I couldn’t, I would know my lire was coming to an end.

Walking through the dark to the modest front entrance of the club didn’t take

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long, and I smiled when I remembered the days there had been scanners which

checked out all new arrivals. What the club had offered then was blatantly

illegal rather than just mildly so, and they’d had to be careful not to be

surprised by unexpected visits. When the club had changed hands its policies had

also changed, and it had become a place where people could meet friends and sit

and talk in relative comfort, or indulge in certain vices that affected no one

but themselves. Those of us who became old time regulars after the change

preferred it that way, and with the amounts of money the club was now making

legally, it wasn’t likely to change back again. When I reached the front

entrance I pushed inside to the outer foyer, and the maitre d’ on duty glanced

up from his station, then suddenly grinned.

“Well, will you look at that.” he drawled in greeting, nothing left of his usual

professional aloofness of manner. “We must be starting that age of miracles the

preachers keep telling us is on the way. Inky has finally decided to come home.”

“You may be a dear, Mal, but home isn’t necessarily where the heart is,” I

answered, not letting the familiarity of the noisy dining room behind him reach

all the way through to me. “All I’m back for is a visit, and to ask myself what

I ever saw in this dump. I don’t expect to do it a second time.”

“You’ll change your mind,” he said, the grin softening to a smile, which also

softened his handsome features. “Home is where your friends are, where you can

be yourself with others like you. We all knew why you left, doll, and we all

understood. Now that you’re back again, everything will be the way it used to

be.”

“Not quite everything,” I corrected, almost losing it so far that I told him not

to call me doll. That was what Seero had most often called me, and Seero was

dead.

“No, not quite everything,” he agreed, losing his smile as he remembered. “But

things do change, and the rest of us are still here. Tris, Riccom and Sharp said

to send you back as soon as you showed up.”

“I’m willing to bet they said if I show up,” I countered, deliberately pushing

away the air of gloom that was trying to descend like a falling building. “I

didn’t know if I’d be able to make it, so I didn’t commit to anything definite.

All I promised to do was try.”

“Which is why they said when, not if,” he countered back, the grin beginning to

return. “We know the people we can trust from those we can’t. I’d be there with

them myself if I didn’t have to work, so I’ll have to catch you next time.

They’re waiting in the quiet corner.”

As expected. I nodded my thanks to Mal and headed into the room his station

guarded, paying no attention to the people at the curtain tables which crowded

almost every inch of floor. About a fifth of the tables had nothing of a

distortion field around them, double that number had shadow curtains to tease

passersby, and all the rest were completely hidden by fields that let no one see

who was at them, what those people were watching, or what the watchers were

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