Free Future Indefinite by Dave Duncan

rest of the field at the post. Alas, the dream must remain a dream, for only people could cross between worlds.
    He had not even reached the gate when he saw a man he knew in the next paddock, leaning on a fence and chatting with a couple of stable hands.
    Julian bellowed, “Dragontrader!”
    T’lin looked up, said a word to his companions, and clambered over the gate. He came trotting in Julian’s direction, not moving quite as fast as Julian would have liked.
    Political Branch’s Agent Seventy-seven was a huge man with a monstrous ginger beard. His origins were obscure, although his habit of wearing a turban suggested that he hailed from Niolland or one of its neighboring vales. His fur jerkin had once been dyed blue, his voluminous bags were a faded green, his boots had started out as scarlet, and he would have some yellow and white about him somewhere. Those were the sacred colors of the Pentatheon, but the tiny gold circle of the Undivided glinted in his left earlobe.
    He arrived, stopped, and made the sign of the circle. Julian ignored it, for the Service did not bother with religious mumbo jumbo within Olympus.
    “I understand you met Tyika Kisster in Joalvale?”
    T’lin stood well over six feet tall and could look down on Julian easily, even at his present respectful distance. His expression gave away nothing. “That is correct, Saint Kaptaan.”
    “Did you speak with him?”
    “I did, Your Holiness.”
    “Just call me ‘ Tyika ’ here, Seventy-seven, if you please. Did he say what he was doing?”
    T’lin’s emerald eyes regarded him coolly under hedges of russet eyebrows. “I asked him. He just said, ‘Preaching,’ Holiness. I already knew that, because I had watched him. I heard little of what he was preaching, although I believe it was the True Gospel.”
    “Did he say anything else?”
    The green eyes twinkled. “He asked how you fared, Holiness, and if your hand had healed.”
    Damn! Julian was momentarily thrown off balance. His hand slid behind his back without any orders from him. “You have no doubt that it was the real Tyika Kisster?”
    “None, Your Holiness. He reminisced extensively about the days when he traveled with me, pretending to be one of my men. No one else could have known the stories.”
    Damn again! And damn Exeter for foreseeing this very conversation! “Thank you. That will be all.”
    “Holiness.” T’lin hinted at a bow and stalked away. Tyika , of course, meant “master.” Red beard or not, Dragontrader was not a Carrot.
    Julian resumed his walk home.
    As he trudged up the bungalow steps, Dommi Houseboy appeared on the veranda to greet him, bowing respectfully. The groom handed him Julian’s bag and hurried off. Like almost all the natives of the valley, Dommi had flaming copper hair, although as a domestic he was required to keep it cut short. He was losing the all-over freckles of youth, but he was just as eager to please as he had been when Julian first hired him. As always, his white livery was faultless.
    “Evening, Dommi. How’s Ayetha?”
    “Oh, she is indeed most well, Tyika , thank you. And you are very welcome back.”
    “And glad to be so,” Julian admitted, heading straight for the bathroom. “I need to shed about twenty pounds of dust.”
    “I have a warm tub waiting, Tyika .”
    He did. The big copper basin was steaming. How on Next-door had he ever managed that? He could have had only a rough idea of when Julian would turn up and likely was not supposed to know even that much. He must have arranged for someone in the village to signal to him somehow. Couldn’t keep secrets in Olympus—damn Carrots knew everything.
    Accepting help to undress, three hands being faster than one, Julian caught a glimpse of his bristly beard in the mirror. Shave? Usually when he came home to Olympus, a smooth chin stood right at the top of the order of battle. Doc had taken over his tour…but there was still the Exeter problem. Think about it. He sank