“So, Marcues is wasting my training, and talents, just to be nice to Graeme. The really bitching thing about it is that while we were married and worked together, I saved Graeme's ass a few times when he was being high-handed and arrogant. And the fool that I was, I let him take the credit for those operations! So he ended up looking like he was a better operative than he is! And I got screwed over several different ways!”
There was suspicious moisture gleaming in the corners of Lindy's eyes. Coryn gazed on her in some sympathy, while she used a napkin to dry those corners. Then he thought of something, and grinned at her conspiratorially.
“I hope that you at least took him to the cleaners during the divorce,” he said.
Lindy giggled.
“I did!” she said. “I got a good lawyer. She got me damages for pain and suffering, while he had to pay for his own speed-healing treatments on his face and neck! He tried to con me some more, asked that we go for counselling, and conflict-resolution. But I had learned my lesson, and I made a list of other little instances, clues which should have told me that he had been unfaithful all along! I showed the list to my lawyer, and refused to reconcile, point-blank!
“I got my divorce, and some money—and now I'm stuck in that front office checking IDs!”
“You know, Lindy, your position in that front office might be useful, to some of us,” Coryn said thoughtfully.
Lindy stared at him. She pushed away her wine glass, suddenly turning into the well-trained Agent which he had known her to be.
“Are you, very carefully, working towards a change in Agency leadership?” she asked.
“I hadn't got quite that far,” he replied, “but as you no doubt are aware, I have reasons to not be happy with Marcues' high-handed ways.”
Lindy made a face.
“One of the reasons why I feel free to talk to you,” she said. “Lot of people are buzzing with the rumours. You, whom he tossed into the backwater which he considered the amarto-angle to be, have been handling it beautifully—and responsibly—ever since it turned into one of our top issues. Now Marcues, who ought to be patting you on the back, and standing beside you to bask in the reflected glory, has turned into a professionally jealous ass. And he's taking you off the case! I could hardly credit the tale until I saw you come in, today!”
“After what you've told me I wouldn't be surprised if he sends his buddy, Graeme, to Kordea to botch up the situation there,” Coryn said drily.
“Oh heavens, I hadn't thought of that possibility!” Lindy groaned. “Graeme might just want the position! A generous expense account, glamourous Witch-women, Organization Hounds to fight, and a Trade City known for its seediness, and drugs! The planet where night is day! Shit, I wouldn't put it past him! Better get the word out to the Kordeans to lock up their daughters!”
Coryn laughed.
“Actually, we should almost wish that Marcues would send him there! I'd love to be a fly on the wall of the room in which Witch Marlyss, the Eldest of the Circle of the Twelve puts him in his place! Heck, Nance, the totally un-amarto-sensitive Trahea-born Kordean beauty could put your fool ex-husband in his place in a minute! After she first flirted with him, unmercifully exposing to all and sundry his narcissistic tendencies!
“Mind you, the Diplomatic Corps would never accept him as the Chief Liaison Officer, no matter what pressure Marcues might try to bring to bear. The Liaison Office in Trahea has to, actually do some liaising; I made a point of doing that part of the job adequately, at the minimum, and I know that Fiana Marsh is following the practice. I left a message at the Corps Headquarters to let them know of my reassignment, and gave a suggestion as to who I thought could function as a Liaison Officer. They, also, may well have candidates of their own, now that Kordea is considered an interesting place, rather than merely a hot hell-hole.”
Lindy laughed.
“Efficient of you. Why am I not surprised? Ah, it's too bad I didn't think of applying to go there to staff your office when you created it! But I guess, at the time, I was still grieving the end of my marriage, and having trouble moving on!
“I remember that Jillian Ashton jumped at the opportunity. Marcues thought that she was an uppity bitch because she graduated at the top of her training year, and looked down her nose at Graeme and company, the guys who saw the new female trainees as naifs to be seduced. Then she married that gentle, if unpolished, bruiser, Joe, and the slick dudes no longer dared to gawk at her crotch! Marcues wouldn't give her anything demanding to do, but Roland Harmiss sent her on sorties with his groups, because he said that she was being wasted. I suspect that he encouraged her to take the job that you needed filled; Roland knew that you both were good workers.”
“Sounds like the dissatisfaction with Marcues has been rampant for some time,” Coryn said. “I guess I only got glimpses of it, since, after training, I never spent much time here at the Headquarters. First I was at RES for so long , learning, and then practising the arts of an alyen. When I felt ready to expand my reach, I badgered Marcues, every chance I got, but from a distance, to give me more responsibility. After a while, he got tired of being bugged, I guess, and told me to see what I could do with the amarto-angle. Max Caitlin had been on it, but he was tired of keeping up with it on his own, and had asked for help. So I took it on, on top of the other snooping I was doing, and brought on board Fiana Marsh, whom I had convinced to become a spy.
“Then, all hell broke loose: first the girl who had been seduced from Trahea, was mentally screaming, and then the Kordean Witches called on me because there was an amarto-blaze on a planet that they had sent Explorers to. And after that....”
He shook his head and let his words trail into silence.
“But you said that you thought I could be useful at the reception desk,” Lindy stated. “What, or who would I be looking for, and who would I report to?”
“Anything that strikes you as off, I'd say,” Coryn answered thoughtfully. “You're better at figuring out what's not normal practice, here at the Headquarters, than I can possibly be. Roland, you already know, is capable and trustworthy; I'd suggest consulting with him about anything that concerns the Headquarters, or the Space Station, for that matter. Anything amarto-related, contact the Liaison Office on Kordea until I get back here. Ask to talk to either Jill or Fiana, and remember that the channels may be compromised; you'll have to be careful as to what you say.”
Lindy nodded.
“Will do the best I can. The biggest problem with it that I can see, is that everything Marcues does, and that's true of Graeme and his slick buds, too, is off, if not actually disgusting. But I ought to be able to compensate for that.”
**
The next morning Coryn was at the Port again, waiting for the mega-transport that he was booked on. He was in the waiting area, using his personal communicator, theorizing that the presence of a lot of other travellers, also contacting various people and businesses through the communication networks, would make it harder for anyone in possession of a 'snooper' to zero in on his feed.
He had spoken with Roland Harmiss again, warning him that Lindy might contact him if she came across disquieting information during her receptionist duties, and to update him on what he had found out during his after-dinner contact with the Diplomatic Corps Headquarters.
That talk with the Diplomatic Corps people had surprised him. He had first spoken to a Corps official before dinner, informing her of his recall from Kordea, and making the suggestion that Peter Mackenzie was a possibility for the job he was being forced to vacate, once Fiana Marsh could no longer be counted upon.
“But,” he had added, “the ultimate choice for a Liaison Officer lies with you people. Although I would suggest taking care to appoint someone who is acceptable to the Witches, especially to Marlyss, the Eldest of the Twelve.”
When he had made the second contact, he had been put through to a high level official, named Mel Jourda. Coryn had dealt with him when he had first insisted on bringing into b
eing the Kordean-Confederation Liaison Office. His impression was that Jourda was a ”fixer” of sorts; a person whose function was to keep the various Diplomatic channels among the Confederation worlds operating smoothly. This time, he had broached the possibility, with Jourda, that Graeme Forshie might be Marcues' choice for staffing the Kordean-Confederation Liaison Officer post.
“Marcues is an idiot,” Jourda had said flatly. “Does he not know about the connections that the Forshies have?”
“Forshies have connections?” Coryn had blurted. “I have to admit that I know nothing about the man or his family, beyond the fact that he used to be married to an Agent whom I knew rather well during my training days. Actually, I made a point of putting a few careful queries to her, and she's the one who told me that Graeme and his pals are thick with Marcues.”
“Took the opportunity to pump an ex-girlfriend, did you?” Jourda had chortled. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I try to keep possible sources of info sweet,” Coryn had replied. “Even though I don't do pillow talk any more. But a little charm, and flirtation go a long way.”
“The Forshies are Mallorans,” Jourda had said.
Coryn had drawn a ragged breath. It was his turn to mutter:
“Why am I not surprised?”
The Mallorans had a reputation—undeservedly, without doubt, in so far as most of the citizens were concerned—as narcissistic, money-grubbing egotists. The business classes of the Malloran Capital were understood to put profit and conspicuous consumption above other considerations, including good government. They were therefore suspected of every sort of traitorous impulse known to exist within the Confederation. Coryn did not allow the reputation to influence his thinking too much—he was not paranoid—but he did not totally discount it either. His friends Steph and Fiana made their permanent home on Mallora, and the Confederation Armed Forces Experimental Craft Division with its canny Head, Carovan, was on Mallora. Coryn, himself, had spent a half-year at the Mallora Pilot Training Facility when Carovan had had the running of it, so he well knew that much of the maligned planet was a world very like any of the others in the centre of the inhabited Galaxy. However, rumours often have some basis in fact....
“Their businesses are quite far-ranging,” Jourda had added.
“I think I know where you're going with this,” Coryn had said. “The possibility of a snake right inside the Citadel, to resurrect a phrase.”
“Yes, and since you get it, I'll say no more. How secure a channel we have is anyone's guess.
“However, you mentioned in your communication that your recommendation for the replacement for Fiana, when she will leave the Liaison Officer's job to attend to a happy family event, is Peter Mackenzie,” Mel Jourda had continued. “Care to elaborate?”
“Sarah's father, of course. As that he has a deep connection to both the Terra Confederation, and to Kordea. Also, he has intimate knowledge of the threat the Neotsarians pose, and he has met Witch Marlyss in connection with the Institute of Kordean Studies—Jaime Morrow wanted him to work with him at the Institute, which the Witches are encouraging, and partly funding. I'm pretty certain that he would be acceptable to Marlyss, and the Liaison Officer must be on good terms with the Eldest of the Twelve, if he or she is to be effective in the position.”
“There's just one thing about Peter Mackenzie which may or may not be a problem,” Jourda had countered slowly. “Do you happen to know anything about XYZ Imports, the company he worked for before his disappearance in that accident, a dozen or more years ago?”
“No.” Coryn had found that his neck-hairs had stood up. “When I went to Earth I was busy trying to determine why Sarah had Kordean DNA. That meant talking to her family about their past, and it took a fair bit of persuasion to get the grandparents to spill.”
“The XYZ Imports are not in business any more,” Jourda had said. “But you might have a look at the records left in the Public Archives.”
Which was what Coryn was doing in the crowded waiting area of the ASC Port, while the mega-transport he was scheduled to take to Flameworld approached and docked into the Space Station's ring. The Public Records of the Confederation Government was a huge conglomeration of information about the member planets' residents, businesses, and all the human transactions involved. There was so much data—it now included the record of one marriage rite performed recently at Ferhil Stones—that no single person could hope to familiarize himself with even a small portion of it. Unless you knew precisely what you were looking for, your chances of finding desired data were not good, not unless you had lots of time to spare. But Coryn had the name of the company, and its presumed business, as well as the name and the hometown of one of its employees. That gave him the location of at least one office.
Plus, he had some time on his hands. The mega-transports were lumbering beasts when it came to docking at Space Stations. And this one was scheduled to drop off a large number of passengers, and to pick up almost as many. The final boarding call had to be at least a couple of hours away.
**
“What's he up to, anyway?” asked a sharply dressed man, several rows of seats away from Coryn, of his companion, a somewhat scruffier individual. “Who is he contacting?”
The scruffy fellow was playing with the controls of a gadget.
“I'm having trouble zeroing in on his feed; there are so many people playing with their coms in this place,” he said. “And most of them are talking to their mothers, or lovers—or Auntie Edna, whoever the frig she might be. These 'snoopers' aren't miracle workers, you know. Tell your pa and your uncles to start exporting newer models to us; I've heard that there are better ones available.”
“There are, but not for sale on the open market,” the slick fellow replied. “The new stuff is restricted to government uses. My Uncle Albert's been hounding the manufacturer who has the rights, but it's been no go. The maker says that he has plenty enough legitimate buyers for the new models; he doesn't need to take chances by selling where restrictions apply. Besides, this way he has a market for these old things. Your people are better off with something, rather than nothing at all.”
“Yeah, and the way Confederation officials have been confiscating these things, lately—I guess your old man, and your uncle don't mind that. More business for them—wait a sec, I think I got it now! Ah spit, he's just accessing the Public Records, that's all! What does he think that he's going to find, going through that mountain of manure? Drat, I hate it when the Elites give me a task that turns out to be pointless! Too bad I can't just confront the guy with a laser pistol and demand to know what he's out to do!”
“That would never do, Tommie, and you know it perfectly well,” said his companion.
He pulled out an expensive-looking, small tablet from his jacket pocket.
“Let's see if we can't hook your 'snooper' to my little book here. Maybe I can make sense from what he's digging into.”
He pulled a short cable from under the tablet, and attached it to a port on the “snooper”. Tommie stared as words began to scroll down the tablet's screen.
“Wow, ain't that handy!” he exclaimed. “That's lot easier than trying to listen to the feed on the 'snooper's' earphones!”
“Plus it records it for future reference,” his companion said smugly. “So we don't even have to follow it right now, unless we want to. I could read it later while having a beer.”
“How come my people don't have cool gadgets like that?” Tommie whined.
“You do. Or your Elites do. I guess they figure that the ordinary operatives don't need anything but simple 'snoopers'.” The man shrugged. “Their call. My family sells anything to anyone, so long as the selling is legal, and really good customers can get iffy stuff, too.
“But, hey, wait a minute!”
He suddenly became engrossed in the information that was scrolling along on the tablet's face.
“Son of a gun,” he then said. “That damn blond puke is researching one of my fam
ily's old businesses! It's defunct, been gone for some years now, but.... How'd he find out about that connection? He's been talking to my ex-wife, but I never filled Lindy in on anything. Unless she was snooping around while we were still happily coupled up.”
**
Coryn, meanwhile, was gawking at the information on the small screen in front of him. The owners of the XYZ Imports, for which Peter Mackenzie had worked were the Forshie Family of the Mallora Capital! The Office in Laurentia had been a minor branch, and there was very little information as to what the branch did. Imported stuff? Presumably—or exported Earth products to other Confederation planets, such as Mallora, for example. The headquarters of the company had been in the Malloran capital city, but there had been branches on the other central planets, such as Atlantis and Janus, as well as the Space Station RES. Space Station RES?
Had someone, who should not have, found out about the deception that Witch Anya and the Mackenzie couple had perpetrated, with the help of a kindly midwife? The one that had turned the boy which Anya had given birth to, into Jane and Carl's son, complete with apparently authentic records. And had Peter Mackenzie's employers colluded in the events which had ended with his disappearance? What had been his role at the obscure Earth branch of the company? And why, in the first place, had that branch been in Laurentia? Why not in one of the more populous, better-known cities, such as New York, London, Sao Paulo, Beijing, or New Delhi? There was a long list of places more likely as a location for a branch of a Galactic import-export company than the city in the northern half of North America which had been transposed onto Precambrian rock from a lake shore site, at a time when it had become clear that good farm land was wasted under city streets.
Carl and Jane Mackenzie had talked about that interesting bit of history with Coryn when he had visited them to research Sarah's DNA background. He had found it fascinating that some of the people of Earth had actually tried to solve their, at the time, growing food supply problem in a way which required a massive relocation of people.
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