The Alliance (14 page)

“A bit dramatic,” he said to the boy. “I haven’t got what I came for yet.” They would expect a touch of bravado.

“Don’t usually do that,” the child lied.

“Long as they get it open by the morning.” Jack allowed a touch of nervousness to color his tone.

“They’re just testing. They do it all the time.” Jack could sense the boy’s amusement at the hidden truth. This was no simple pawn.

“You being smart, son?” The suspicion was within character, the next stage after bravado. “A clip under the ear still cures jackass kids.” Jack stepped closer, as if intending to carry out his threat.

It achieved its purpose. The priest stepped out of his hidden niche. “Run along, child. I will conduct our guest to the chamber.”

“Yes, Father.” The child’s voice had reverted to its normal pitch.

“What’s going on?” Jack made it a challenge.

“The token you won was stolen.”

“Not by me.” It was the truth and therefore safe.

“So it would seem.” The man in the robes was not the danger. Like Jack, he was playing a role, following instructions. “We will honor it. Please follow me.” He turned and Jack followed him into the sunlight of the inner compound.

* * * *

The Pontiff relaxed. The spacer was just what he seemed; a little smarter than most, but no threat, just a local boy made good as a spacer and small-time smuggler. The Federation agent’s usefulness continued. She was the honey pot drawing every dissident into his web and still useful for small tasks—reasons to let her live a little longer.

“Holy Father,” said one of his sons, another of his countless failures, “we still have the problem on Trygon. He’s causing trouble again.”

“Send a schooner to invite him to the capital. It’s time we put an end to him.”

“What if he doesn’t accept?”

The Pontiff sighed. “I was being sarcastic. Have them bring him by whatever means necessary.” Making his sons into cardinals was as futile as trying to create silk purses from sow’s ears. There wasn’t one of them with anything of value between his ears. He’d give anything for one of them to be as cunning as the Federation agent in the temple. She amused him. A smile broke out on the Pontiff’s face as he sensed what she was doing in her chamber.

“Ask Lorelei to attend me before she meets her guest.”

The change of subject confused his son, and he stared blankly, his lower lip sagging a little.

“Ask Lorelei to attend me, now.” The Pontiff simplified his request.

“Of course, Holy Father. Of course.” The red-robed figure backed away and fled.

* * * *

Rachael received the summons in the midst of her final transformation to Lorelei, the black wig of a temple maiden in her hands. “I’ll finish dressing.” Her tone brooked no argument. She needed every advantage in dealing with the Pontiff.

“But...” The Cardinal had delivered the summons in person.

“I’ll finish dressing,” Rachael repeated. “It will do proper honor to the Holy Father.” She took pride in the calmness of her tone. Inside, her mind screamed its terror.

She allowed herself five minutes and forced herself to walk sedately toward the Pontiff’s palace, ignoring the twittering Cardinal and pausing twice to admire the floral displays in the garden.

“Your Holiness.” She bowed low. “I came as soon as I could.”

“I know, my child. Your appearance does me proper honor.”

She knew he mocked her and had to still a shudder at the efficiency of his surveillance. He must have listening devices planted everywhere, all fueling the myth he could read minds. “As it should,” she said. “We are but the reflections of your greatness.”

His smile had a whisper of mischief. “I have a task befitting your talents. Come closer, child. The walls are reputed to have ears.”

Rachael stilled another shudder. These tasks were a reminder he knew her secret and her life hung on his whim. “Yes, Holy Father.”

The Pontiff smiled fondly. “Your little venture should go ahead. It will serve my purpose, but I want you to add a small refinement.” He beckoned her forward until his mouth was inches from her ear and revealed how much he knew and what he wanted done. “The spacer will serve a greater purpose,” he ended. “Can it be done?”

She nodded.

“Good, my child. Don’t keep him waiting any longer.”

Rachael bowed low and backed away.

* * * *

They came for him as he finished his second drink, a robed priest and two guards carrying ancient pikes. “Lorelei awaits your pleasure,” the priest said, bowing low.

Jack allowed himself a smile, coloring it with a touch of lust. “I hope she’s as beautiful as her namesake, but a little less fatal.” The priest’s blank look rewarded the attempt at gallows humor, and Jack shrugged. The drinks were stronger than he realized, making him careless, but spacers often quoted off-world customs inappropriately and his mistaken erudition should go unnoticed. He must be more careful.

“Please follow.” The priest turned and led the way, the two pike men waiting for Jack to follow and falling in behind him as they walked out into the sunlight.

The Inner Circle was a physical fact, a ring of smaller buildings surrounding the papal palace, and their destination was halfway around the ring—a long way from the entrance. He stored the fact for later study. It could mean she was under suspicion, or it could mean nothing.

She waited in the shaded doorway, the revealing temple robes still swaying a little as if she had just arrived. “Greetings, guest,” she said, her voice full of unspoken promises.

“Greetings, Lorelei,” he replied, bowing low. “Thank you for granting me your company.” It was the agreed recognition phrase, close enough to normal to go unremarked.

“The pleasure is mine.” She dipped in a small curtsey, the robes billowing to give him a glimpse of rouged nipples. Her skin color suggested she was a redhead beneath the wig, a light dusting of freckles not quite concealed by her cosmetics. “You have come a long way.” She completed the recognition sequence.

“I would have come further, had I known the reward.” He added his own comment. This was a very beautiful woman. She rewarded him with a deeper curtsey and a roguish smile with only a touch of artifice.

“Then enter and enjoy it.” She turned and led the way.

The priest and the guards fell back and he followed her, admiring the sway of the long skirts as she walked.

“A drink?” She’d reached the inner room and was standing at a laden buffet, looking back over her shoulder in a deliberately provocative pose.

“Later.” He held up his hand for silence, every sense alert, and took off his pilot’s insignia, triggering a hidden switch. The diamond crest flickered and then dulled. There were no listening devices active. That left only the Pontiff, and he was occupied elsewhere, something to do with his sons. “Go ahead. You requested a pilot.”

Her mouth tightened at his brusqueness, but she got down to business. “I have a delivery for you to make on your next run.”

“Details?”

She told him, specifying weights, volumes, coordinates, and recognition signals. Jack nodded, committing them to memory as she went.

“Do you understand what we want?”

Jack laughed. “Just the usual miracles.” He was deliberately flippant

“There’s far too many of those already.” Rachael removed the black wig and shook free her hair. “The Pontiff’s people believe this rubbish. I don’t.”

“They’re not all illusions.” He knew Rachael was a dedicated skeptic, questioning everything. She had to be to survive undercover.

“They’re very clever.” It was a concession rather than an admission. He smiled, deciding he liked her.

“What’s special about this cargo? Trygon has never been a customer before.” She’d expect him to be suspicious. He was supposed to be a small time smuggler, working freelance.

“They’re specials. It’s a new area for us, and we want to know more about it.”

“So everything in the cargo has an implant to transmit data to your satellite. How long before they’re detected?” He wouldn’t want the job of explaining to his customers if he was the local boy they supposed.

“Probably never. These people are technologically backward.”

“The Pontiff’s people aren’t.”

“You’re not selling to them.”

He shook his head. “Sooner or later, one will fall into their hands, he’ll have a prima facie case to take to the courts, and the Federation will lose its concession.”

“Not your problem. You’re being paid to get the stuff out there.” The undercover work was getting to her. She didn’t like opposition and Jack could sympathize with her.

There’d be no show trial if she were caught, just an extended interrogation until she welcomed death as a friend. The Papacy played for keeps. All the local despots did. The Diaspora saw to that.

Humanity had destroyed its home planet, not with a bang, but with the whimper of a world polluted beyond redemption. Belatedly realizing there was no going back, the Federation had dispatched a wave of scout ships to find new homes for Earth’s teeming multitudes, and populated vast colony ships with the best available stock to follow in their wake whilst Earth choked itself into oblivion. Limited to sub-light speed through a physical universe, the voyages had taken thousands of years to reach habitable planets, with history amended to make the destruction of Earth the fault of a wandering black hole rather than rapacious humanity. Sixty millennia later, humankind had colonized every habitable planet in this sector, a credible achievement, considering the primitive technology of the first thirty millennia.

Things were different now. Instant communication and instant travel through a non-physical universe had changed everything, bringing into focus the mammoth task of integrating colonies separated from the mainstream community for millennia.

Trade was the Federation’s first step. Commercial greed harnessed to a greater goal was a concept their ancestors had understood. Increased prosperity and better education led to the dismantling of outdated institutions barring the way to further progress, and finally, to full integration. It was an admirable, long-term view rarely seen by the frontline troops like Rachael. They labored in a vacuum, pursuing short-term goals determined by the head of their particular department of the monolithic Federation.

“Hey, remember me?”

Jack realized he’d been staring at her without focus, his mind elsewhere in an act of unconscious rudeness he must repair. “Yes. I was wondering how far we should take this charade. You are supposed to be entertaining me to gather intelligence for your master.” He enjoyed stirring her. It made her forget reality, and she needed the relief.

“I’d like that.”

It surprised him, especially when she moved into his arms and initiated a passionate embrace. He responded enthusiastically, bearing her backwards onto the broad couch and initiating their physical union. She was a lively partner, pummeling him with closed fists as her excitement grew. Yet, it was as much by accident as design that he captured her wrists and held them crossed above her head on the satin padding. Her reaction startled him. She heaved up against him with such violence, he thought her in the grip of some seizure until he sensed her crooning ecstasy and was reassured. The knowledge gave him the means of pleasuring her and he used it effectively. She needed whatever relief he could give her.

He comforted her in his arms afterwards, said all the right things and even meant some of them.
Gladius non amicus gladius
was an ancient saying, warning those who faced death not to make friends with their companions. Its truth was still valid, especially for undercover operatives, even if she’d forgotten it for the moment.

The sounding of the gong signaled the end of the session, and he left thoughtfully. Rachael had slipped into the twilight zone of her undercover identity. She needed out before she went too far and betrayed herself. Her handler must be asleep not to see how close she was to cracking. She could compromise his mission and everything connected with it.

Damn
. He’d ignored his own advice. She was neither friend nor colleague.

Still, he had to report the change in plan. He could highlight his concern at the same time without compromising the mission. His communication link was to an aunt on Antares XIV, via Federation portal comms. The relationship was fictitious but the person wasn’t.

“Hi, Dot,” he said. “I’ve got a paying cargo on my way home. Lift off tonight local time.” He continued a conversation about their relatives, all real people, as he passed the coded information of his destination. Once Dot acknowledged everything, he approached the touchier subject of Rachael. “I’m concerned about Cathie. Have you checked on her lately?” Cathie was another real person, but her name was the codeword for Rachael.

“Should I?” Dot was good. “I thought she was doing fine.”

“She looked very tired when I spoke to her. The new job is testing her reserves.”

“You obviously think it’s serious. If I can’t get through to her, I’ll call her mother.” Dot was going to check with Rachael’s handler and express concern.

“Thanks, Dot. See you soon.” He took his comms card from the machine and the screen went dead. He’d done what he could for Rachael.