The explanation of how to use plasma weaponry (not my cannon which was too advanced for this world, but simpler devices)to the American Overlords of 2015, and about a half-dozen other tricks gave them much greater security. And in so doing, it confirmed the wisdom of my decision to trust their good hearts. They were harsh because they were afraid of terrorists. Making them stronger made them less afraid. And that let the kindness out.



Having thus proved myself a friend and soothed their fears, they listened when I told them to make “Free Cities” in the Middle East where everyone who wanted to live in peace, and was willing to sign on to a quite restrictive document could go. The new cities were built on piers into the Persian Gulf and the Mediterranean Sea, similar to Venice, and for similar reasons. The residents wanted to get away from the gunmen, and just be happy little merchants.



The gunmen hated it, but with the “no mercy” kill zones around the cities the merchants got rich and happy in secure conditions. It was rather like the gated communities in my home world except it was a city instead of a suburb.



Then we expanded to a nearby traditional city which lacked the clear lines of fire of the “Free City”. The expansion was founded on the idea that more people are decent and honorable than are crazy even in a crazy society. We gave away, free of charge, pump shotguns to every person over twelve in the city.



One of my fondest memories is seeing a line of fat, out-of-shape men and women on lunch break walk across a city square to a chanting crowd of young men and their hanger-on young women, and at shotgun point escort the troublemakers out of town. The scene shines in my mind’s eye.



The parasitical gunmen hated me, and named me in their propaganda broadcasts, Azareth, the demon prince of evil war. I guess it was an evil war because the people they had oppressed for so long, the people who actually were useful, had started to fight back. Didn’t the merchants and craftsmen know their place in life? Guess not.



Meanwhile, I took some training in AT, anti-terrorism operations. And I traded in my Mac-10 for a M-5 fletchette rifle.



They seemed similar levels of technology so that I could probably use the M-5 in about the same number of worlds as the Mac-10. The M-5 was a lot more devastating and reliable. It would chop a guy in two in about four seconds.



I refused a “smart” gun for the reason that many worlds’ technology level, what the Martian terraformer, who originally came from a twenty-seventh century Anno Domini world, called “bias” might not let it work in them. And my plasma cannon was for those worlds which did let higher tech work in them.



But all good things come to an end, and luck fails, and even the best bodyguards cannot stop every sniper attack.



I woke from versing-in cold and shivering which was a change from the last world which seemed to specialize in sand and heat.



An overcast sky gloomed over a chill and flat plain covered in snow for as far as the eye could see. I stood up to my thighs in snow, and guesstimated the temperature to be twenty with a further twenty-five mile per hour wind.



I needed shelter quickly.



A mylar tarp from the last world, and my middle ages style cloak from my homeworld came out of the backpack pronto. The tarp got strung up as a windbreak with a plasma cannon and an M-5 as its support poles.



Quickly running through my psionic skills and then my magic skills left me fifteen minutes colder and more worried with a big handful of nothing. That left technological means of creating warmth. A more detailed survey of my near surroundings revealed no fallen trees or branches.



So, I dug in the snow with a camp shovel made of ultra-lightweight ceramic which could double as a radio antenna. I found after a few minutes some grass which I proceeded to chop up with my memory metal hatchet because the ground had frozen solid.



Dear reader, if you are a verser, stock up on those silly Swiss knife type devices. Multiple use inventions are one of my biggest helps. When you are carrying everything you own on your back, you need to shave ounces when you can.



I considered giving up right then and there, let me tell you. This was a remarkably inhospitable world. But, I did not want to lose. Besides, the people here might need me, if there was any people in the whole world.



The only thing to do was to build an igloo. Pulling out a metal pan took but a moment, yet, I could feel myself more awkward and slow. The hard crust on the snow made things more difficult to dig, but at least it kept the snow from being sprayed into my eyes.



Slogging along I cleared a spot, and then built a wall that joined my windbreak. It would be easier with knife the Inuit used, but the sand-castle method of building an igloo sufficed since I had no other choice. Exhausted, and wretched, I kept on building. Finally, I started to feel a little warmer as the walls encircled me and got up to four feet.



The rest break, and the opening of the self-heating Chicken Noodle Soup package were heaven to my weary arms and cold ears. I shook as I tried to open the package from either cold or exhaustion, but the smell revived my smile.



The dome collapsed on me, and it took a long ten minutes to clear out the floor of the igloo. Another try, and I had a partial collapse which I held up with my back and arms while putting more snow up at the same time. The slightly rickety igloo needed a door, and I did not feel up to making something proper, so I just carefully removed a few pan bricks from the wall. I used them as the beginning of the central column to provide extra support to my rickety structure.



An outer windbreak wall of ice kept the blasting wind out, and my cloak served as a bed with the mylar as blanket. In less than five minutes, I was quite toasty inside my igloo that an Inuit child of ten could have bettered.



It was aggravating, but I scooted outside to get those blocks of grass that I had forgotten. They needed to thaw a bit, at least before they became part of a fire.



Then it was back into my makeshift bed, and off to a tired dreamland. I woke once, saw it was darker outside, ate a snack to keep up my energy level, and went back to bed.



You think jet lag is bad, what about world lag?



The next morning saw more soup, for breakfast. Vegetables with Beef is good, also courtesy of my last world.



I was just able to get a small fire started, and that warmed up the igloo a lot. I wondered if I needed a chimney hole, but I would wait and see.



A quick excursion outside let me know just how cold “cold” remained. The dazzling light of the Sun broke through the clouds for about three minutes, and it lighted a fiery sword stretched across the icy snow directed toward me, the viewer. The reflection dazzled the eyes and lifted the spirits. I had been here twelve hours, and already I missed the sun.



Inside, I studied my items, and made the best shield against cold I could. Then back outside, I hiked about a mile square looking for anything of use. A five pound branch cheered me a little. Firewood would help.



A movement to my left got me scanning the slope that rose in that direction. Minutes slipped by, and it looked as if I would need to move, or suffer frostbite and then hypothermia. The polar bear lost patience first. It rose to all fours, and then to its hind legs with a challenging roar from about fifty yards away.



My first reaction to run, I stifled. If I ran, that would incite the bear, and it would probably freeze my lungs, to boot.



The long walk back to my igloo became worse when the bear made to follow me in a shambling stroll. But I got in first, and with M-5 and plasma cannon, I went back out. It was nowhere to be seen.



Nervous about the protection offered by my flimsy igloo, I sat about making a more proper one. A fire in my old one used up the branch, and melted ice so that I had something to drink which is essential in the cold climate surprisingly enough. And it gave me water to layer onto my newer and sturdier and chimney hole owning, and air-blocked door in proper igloo fashion.



The water froze and strengthened the igloo a lot, but it was still a relatively crude structure. But I slept inside with more warmth, and no drafts, and a feeling of a job well done.



I heard some ka-thumps next door during the night, and I wondered if my old igloo would be standing in the morning. Clutching my rifle, I waited for the bear to attack my igloo, but it did not. Possibly, the wind had knocked down the rather frail first one. But I was not convinced.



The next morning after eating one of my steadily shrinking supply of soups in self-heating packages, I slipped out of the igloo to see the outside world.



The crashing weight of a paw held by a nearly half-ton of predator caught me in my back, and hooked me out of the air blocking passage like I was a fish in a river. He expertly flipped me through the air to crash ten feet from the door in an awkard landing.



Then my ambusher stood up beside my door, and roared so that the world echoed, or so it seemed to me as I stared at the ten foot tall brute.



Taduesz