“I’m afraid the name means nothing to me. Should it?”
“I don’t know… I imagined it might,” said Powers uneasily.
“Ah, well, life if so full of uncertainties. We can be mistaken about so many things… But I digress. I assume you know why you are here?”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
“Dan Brady said that you might be prepared to help us in our fight.”
“What kind of fight?”
“Can we not dispense with the cat and mouse games, Mr. Powers?” said the voice tiredly. “We share a common enemy – the Alliance government. Is that not so?”
“Fair enough. So you work for the Combine, right?”
“Obviously. Though I suppose from your point of view we could just as easily be Alliance counter espionage agents, could we not?”
“Which means what?”
“Which means that it’s time for you to make your choice.”
Powers paused for a few seconds before answering with as much conviction as he could muster. “I told Dan I’d help if I could. I meant it.”
“Mr. Powers, when you were drafted into the Alliance defense forces, I understand you took an oath of allegiance.”
“Yeah, we all did.”
“And this oath means nothing to you now?”
“Why should it? If you’ve talked to Dan, you’ll know why.”
“Yes… I’ve heard all about your vexations – your hostility towards the government, your contempt for the war profiteers and the disillusionment with your lot in life. And of course, you have every reason to feel that way. However, there remains one small problem.”
‘Which is?”
“I’m not convinced that you are who or what you claim to be. I’m actually quite temped to put a bullet in the back of your head and forget all about you. Can you think of any reason why I shouldn’t?”
“You can check up on everything,” said Powers with unease.
“Rest assured we already have.”
“And?”
“We found exactly what we expected to find. No more, no less.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s quite simple, Mr. Powers. If you were genuine, your story would of course check out. And if you were a plant…”
“You would expect my story to check out just the same...”
“Exactly.” Jacob stood in silence for a few moments, wondering what might be going through Powers’ mind. The man was sitting bolt upright in the chair. His breathing shallow but controlled, his hands gripping the seat bottom. Was he expecting a bullet through the head at any moment? No stranger to danger himself, Jacob felt a momentary sympathy for the man, but he brushed the feeling aside as soon as it entered his head. Powers was intelligent enough; he’d have known that he was embarking on a dangerous game. Sympathy was for innocents, and even then only some of the time.
“I do not trust you,” said Jacob slowly, “but under the circumstances, I am prepared to take a leap of faith. A small leap.”
“I understand,” said Powers with a relief that was entirely genuine.
“Listen carefully, Mr. Powers. One of my associates will now loosen your bonds and then remove the hood. You will face in front and not look behind you. Is that perfectly clear?”
“I got it.”
Powers heard someone approach and the cords around his chest were deftly removed. A hand then pulled the hood from his head, giving him his first look at his surroundings. It was some kind of basement, a storeroom perhaps, the walls and floor bare concrete, rows of empty shelves running along the far wall. The only light came from directly behind him, a pair of bright spot lamps that threw shadows of his head onto the far wall. Even if he did chance a look behind him, he was likely only to be dazzled in their glare. Directly in front was a plain table, on the top of which were a small electronic device, a data chip and single key on a key ring.
“What is it you want of me?” said Powers.
“As you will be well aware by now, the conflict has entered a new phase. With a proportion of our assets engaged in operations against the Northern Territories, the squadrons presently arranged against the Alliance will require careful marshalling. In the short term, things are – shall we say – finely balanced.”
“But if we – the Alliance, I mean – stay behind the Shield, what does it matter?”
“Ah, but we don’t expect the Alliance to stay behind the Shield, Mr. Powers. We expect the Alliance to come out and offer battle.”
“So that was the reason for the attack on the NT? To bring the Alliance out into the open?”
No, shouted a voice in Jacob’s head. The idiots in the high command underestimated their enemy. They allowed the building of that damned shield and then turned on their weaker neighbor in an attempt to assuage the situation. And now, that’s backfired as well, so we’re effectively on damage control. And that, my dear Mr. Powers, is the only reason you’re getting a leap of faith and not a bullet in the brain.
“I leave strategy to the generals,” said Jacob. “They do not interfere in my business – another lie – and I don’t interfere in theirs. We understand you are assigned to a post in the Fleet Liaison Office on Loyola Field.”
“That’s right.”
“Then I imagine all kinds of information passes through your office on a daily basis.”
“Sure. What kind of stuff are you looking for?”
“For the moment, we are particularly interested in data regarding Alliance fleet dispositions. Information as to which ships are in port, in which port, their battle readiness, their movement orders, things of that nature.”
“A lot of that kind of stuff comes across my desk,” said Powers. “Not always in great detail, but I get snippets.”
“What kind of snippets?”
“We deal with inter-service matters, you know? So for example, I heard that the battle-cruiser Champion’ s marine detachment is rotating out. Champion is presently in space dock above Willan 6 and the new detachment isn’t due to embark until next week, so in the meantime I don’t expect the Champion will be going anywhere.”
“Interesting,” said Jacob. On its own, of little consequence, but in orchestra with data collected from other sources, the tactical analysts might be able to form a picture of events currently taking place on this side of the border. “We’ll certainly pass the information along. And that brings us to another topic – the question of payment.”
“Payment?”
“What do you expect in return for your efforts, Mr. Powers? We hardly expect you to offer your services for nothing. Indeed, depending of the quality of your information, we are prepared to be generous.”
“And what’s the going rate?”
“That rather depends on how you want the payment to be made. For most people it’s a simple business transaction – information for cash. For others it’s about power – generally the promise of a position of authority in the new order. And of course, there are those driven by more basic needs – sexual favors seem to be a perennial favorite.”
“I’m not asking for special treatment and I don’t want your damned money. As for women, I can find them for myself.”
“Am I to believe that you are motivated by principle alone, Mr. Powers? How very noble – not to mention rare. Are you sure there is nothing you require?”
“Well if you insist,” said Powers, “Maybe there is one thing.”
“Which is?”
“When it’s all over, get me fixed up with a decent cybernetic arm.”
“I’m sure that could be arranged,” said Jacob. “Is there anything else?”
“If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Agreed,” said Jacob.
“So what happens now? How do I contact you? How do we meet?”
“We don’t. Not directly.”
“Then how do–”
“The key on the table in front of you is that of a safe house, an apartment on the east sid
e, not far from your usual haunts. You will find the address on the key ring. The apartment itself is small but secure, the kind used by travelling reps, company officials and the like. In the bedroom closet you will find a small transmitter similar to the one in front of you. The transmitter accepts all standard data chips but you will use the one here on the desk. It contains a single audio file – Drachen’s third symphony, I believe. By a simple drag and drop, anything you write to the chip can be embedded and encoded within the audio file, making it invisible to the casual viewer. Without the appropriate decoding software, the hidden file will be completely undetectable, which makes for a simple, safe and effective way of relaying data. As for transmission, simply power up the device, insert the chip and press the transmit icon. The process is fully automatic. I suggest you familiarize yourself with the operation of the device before we return you to your previous location.”
Powers picked up the transmitter – which at a glance looked very much like any other data pad – hit the power key and then inserted the chip. A few seconds later a ‘transmit’ icon lit up. With a tap of the finger whatever data was presently on the chip was sent into the ether.
“And that is all there is to it,” said Jacob.
“How about if someone is monitoring for transmissions?”
“Unlikely. Even if they are, the chances of the transmissions being detected are remote in the extreme. And even then, they will appear to be nothing more than a standard audio file, much like the thousands of others traversing the globe at any given time.”
“Fair enough,” said Powers.
“However,” continued Jacob. “The Alliance counter intelligence services are extremely capable – it would be unwise to underestimate them. There is always the possibility that you will be compromised, in which case I’ve no doubt they will attempt to use you to get to us.”
“Which is one of the reasons I’m looking at a wall...”
“Indeed, but there is one other precaution. Whatever data you send, you are to begin the text with the code words Blue Goose. If you are caught and coerced into sending some kind of false message, you are to either omit the code words or substitute them with an alternative. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Begin with Blue Goose,” repeated Powers. “Easy enough to remember.”
“Understand also that in the event of your capture there will be nothing we can do to aid you. You will be on your own.”
“I already am. Have been for a long time…”
“The important thing to remember is that although the information we are requesting is crucial, you should take no unnecessary risks. Wherever possible, commit whatever data you retrieve to memory – creating hard copies on site drastically increases risk. If you are who you say you are, you are no good to us in custody.
“And finally, keep to your usual off-duty routine, though I advise you to cut back on the rhetoric. From now on it would be better if you drew a little less attention to yourself. At some point in the future it may be necessary to contact you directly. In such cases we will initiate contact at one of your regular haunts, either the Blue Goose or Lazy Sue’s. Alternatively, a message may be left at the safe house. Do you have any questions?”
Powers shook his head. “No, I’m good.”
“Very well,” said Jacob. “Then we shall bid you farewell, Mr. Powers. Put the data chip and the key in a safe pocket, there’s a good fellow.” Powers leaned forward and swept up the two items, depositing them both in his jacket’s inside pocket. “Now if you’ll forgive us...”
Powers felt the same jab in the side of the neck and settled back in the chair, absently beginning a count to ten. The shadows projected onto the far wall began to drift out of focus as he reached four. On five, he saw them dance and swim. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember what number came after five.
Powers woke up to find himself half sitting, half lying on the back seat of a taxi cab, the driver whistling tunelessly as they sped along a highway. Powers forced open his eyes and squinted through the car’s window, the familiar view telling him they’d left Tycho City behind and were approaching Loyola field.
“Awake, are we?” said the driver brightly, glancing in the rear view mirror. “Just as well – you’re nearly home. Thought for a minute that I was going to have to carry you up to the gate. That wouldn’t do at all… How you feeling?”
“I’ve felt worse,” said Powers groggily. “Can’t remember when, but I’ve definitely felt worse.”
“That’s what they all say. At least you didn’t throw up in the back. That’s always a bonus. Lucky you’ve got some decent friends, too – if not for them you’d still be passed out on the sidewalk. It’s not the weather to be sleeping it off in the gutter, take my word for it.”
“Suppose not,” said Powers. He was still drowsy with sleep but whatever they’d used to drug him didn’t seem to have any lasting effects. By the time the base came into sight he was almost back to his normal self, or at least, as normal as he ever was after a night on the town.
“Well then, here we are,” said the cabbie. He pulled off the highway and coasted up to Loyola Field’s main gates, the guard detail eying the taxi suspiciously as it came to a halt.
“How much do I owe you?” asked Powers.
“Nothing – it’s already taken care of. Someone called Jacob said to tell you he’d paid.”
“Jacob?”
“That’s what the man said. You take care now, and take my advice and fasten that top button before you go in. The fighting sailor is entitled to tie one on once in a while, but not while improperly dressed. That’s how it was in my day, anyways.”
“Still is. I guess bullshit never changes,” said Powers with a laugh. “Thanks.”
Powers waved as the taxi pulled away and then raised his hand to fasten the offending button. But he first reached to his inside pocket – the data chip and key ring were still there. At once he recalled the events from being bundled into the van up to his waking up in the taxi, wondering just how serious that man had been about putting a bullet in his head. Was he the Jacob of frame, the Combine deep cover agent who was said to be running Franklin? And if he was, it prompted another question. After the almost theatrically elaborate security precautions – the masks, the back lights and the knock out jabs – why then reveal a name? It didn’t quite add up. Passing his ID card to the guard he shrugged the mystery aside. Whatever the reason, all that mattered was that he’d made contact. He was one step closer to achieving his mission.
* * *
“We should have pressured him more,” said Goss.
“That may come later,” replied Jacob, “but for the present I think Powers is already under enough stress. He’s just agreed to aid his government’s sworn enemy, to actively betray his friends–”
“Friends? I don’t think he has any.”
“Then his peers, his former comrades in arms, the people he works with day in, day out – their wives, husbands, children… Tell me Goss, what would you suppose he’s doing right now?”
“Sleeping it off, I would imagine.”
“Deep, untroubled slumbers, perhaps? The sleep of a man at peace both with himself and the universe?”
“He made his own decision. We didn’t twist his arm.”
“I think I’d feel better if we had. Then we’d have some levers to use against him. I suppose you could be right – he may well be enjoying the sleep of the righteous, but I’d lay bets that right now he’s wondering what he’s got himself into, or worse, wondering how he can get out of it. It’s one thing to walk up to the edge of the precipice. It’s quite another to jump.”
“The orders from Tarsus Centre were quite specific.”
“As they always are, Goss.”
“Maximum effort. We have a source that could, potentially, give us access to game changing information.”
“I agree, which is why we will proceed with caution.”
“Which is in conflict with our orders. Instructin
g him to take no unnecessary risks was a mistake.”
“You think I should have instructed Powers to take overt risks?”
“Calculated risks,” said Goss. “We could also have given him some tools of the trade.”
Calculated risks, thought Jacob. The only way you could calculate the risks was by knowing all the variables, and when did that ever come to pass? You could factor in all the things you knew, and even some of the things you knew you didn’t know. The real enemy was the stuff you didn’t know that didn’t know. There was no way to factor any of that into any equation, unless someone invented a mathematical symbol that represented a shrug of the shoulders. But risk was all part of the game, and the greater the risk, the greater the gain. Unfortunately, that was all that Goss seemed to be focused upon – the gain. He was an ambitious one, was Goss. He’d come charging out of the blocks after graduating from the Braga Institute and somewhere along the line had been deemed suitable for fast tracking through the ranks. His last tour has been a resounding success; it was said that he’d recruited a level 2 source – someone high up in the civilian administration on Skarla Prime – after which Goss’s stock had risen considerably. And now, here he was in the Alliance capital, ready to weave the same magic. But Skarla wasn’t Tycho, and Goss had yet to learn how or why, though both should have been obvious. Tycho held all the finest treasures of the Alliance, but treasures that were guarded by the Alliance’s most able people. Men like Faulkner, men who would dangle bait like Powers on the end of the line just to see what predators turned up. Goss was convinced that Powers was the real deal; perhaps he had good reason, or perhaps he just wanted or needed to believe it so. Another resounding success here on Tycho and Goss might be rewarded with another promotion and a department of his own in Tarsus Centre, a plush office, a seat at all the right tables and an invitation to all the right cocktail parties.
Jacob still had his reservations, which is why he hadn’t offered Powers any of the specialized tools of the trade, the miniaturized cameras and eavesdropping devices that could be hidden in all manner of everyday items from buttons to band aids. If he was a plant, they’d simply be handing the enemy an example of the Combine’s latest technology.
Across Enemy Space Page 18