by John Bowers
Davenport didn't leave until after midnight. Regina was in her room but not asleep; she could think of nothing but the transports loaded with Star Marines that would soon be leaving for Beta Centauri, perhaps were already on their way. Time was critical, for though she knew nothing of procedures on the military side, she was certain that with only six days until the invasion the Federation needed to know as quickly as possible that the plan had been compromised.
And even more critical, they needed Mr. Lonely’s identity.
Davenport also felt the pressure of time. It was the only reason he left when he did, for he had more than a gut feeling that something was in the Sirian wind. Vaughn had acted strangely at the plantation, and after arriving in New Angeles. Davenport couldn't escape the chilling belief that his days as an undercover agent might be nearing their end. But far more important than his own safety — or Regina's — was the information he now carried.
He slipped out of the house and walked half a mile to a tube station, taking the escalator down to the bullet. It wasn't busy this time of night, and he paid cash for his passage. He climbed into the first tube capsule to stop and strapped himself in. Moments later the capsule was nudged into position and he waited ten seconds. The capsule fired into the tube and he felt a momentary two-G thrust, then he was traveling along at six hundred knots on a highway of compressed air.
He stepped off the capsule forty minutes later at another tube station four hundred miles from New Angeles. He rode up to street level and looked around. The streets were busier here, for he was in a different part of the planet. Buildings were older, more crowded, of a different architecture. Pagodas gleamed under the night sky, their outlines floodlit for all to see. He could smell hot cooking oil, exotic spices, and various roasting meats. He had arrived in Asiana.
The people on the streets were mostly Orientals, Siriochinese, and when they spotted his SE uniform they crossed the street to avoid him. White men were feared in Asiana, especially those with the ebony uniform. Asiana had been an independent state two hundred years ago, until the Confederacy invaded and conquered it, then carried away many thousands of Siriochinese women and girls for the slave markets. In a very real sense, Asiana had been the Vega of 0052; its slaves had made the Confederacy wealthy.
Davenport walked several blocks along the hilly street, then caught a pedi-cab to his destination. A skinny peasant man operated the cab, and when they arrived Davenport gave him ten sirios and told him to wait.
He was in a residential district of narrow, winding streets, pagoda-like roofs, and ornate buildings with courtyards. He walked quickly through a dark courtyard until he reached a stairwell leading down to a basement. At the foot of the stairs he rang the doorbell and waited, then rang again. The door opened and a middle-aged woman stood before him, her dark eyes worried.
"Davenpoht!" she gasped. "What you doing heah this time? You got something?"
She was Siriochinese, taller than most of her peers and slender, almost bony, with protruding cheekbones and sharply slanted eyes. Stepping inside, Davenport talked to her quickly and quietly, fully aware she was recording every word. When he'd finished, she looked stunned.
"Davenpoht, this very big! I get this out right away! You bettah leave now!"
"Not yet," he reminded her.
It took her a second, then she nodded.
"Oh, you right. Wait heah. I be right back."
Davenport heaved a sigh. He hadn't realized how much the thing had stressed him, but now he'd passed it along, and he knew it would find its way back. He had no idea how the woman did it — or even if she was the one who did — but she'd never failed him yet. Once she had the message, it always found its way to the Federation.
The woman returned with a sleepy, blinking girl in tow, and thrust her at him.
"You bettah hurry! In theah! Empty bedroom." She pointed.
Davenport took the girl's arm and pulled her through the doorway, heard the woman lock it behind him, and led the girl to the bed. She was eighteen or nineteen, full-bodied and very pretty. She wasn't fully awake, and had trouble unbuttoning her nightgown.
"Sorry, honey," Davenport told her, "but I'm in a hurry."
He ripped the nightgown, buttons popping across the room, and pushed her down across the side of the bed. He quickly bent over her and dropped his pants; due to his nervous tension, he was fully aroused, and finished in ninety seconds. The girl blinked in surprise as he pulled up his pants and tossed her ten sirios.
"Go back to sleep," he told her.
He tapped on the door. He waited, and tapped again. The woman had locked it from the outside, so he couldn't open it himself. When she didn't let him out, he tried to open it anyway, but it was still locked.
He tapped one more time, and this time it slid aside. He stepped through — and froze.
The Siriochinese woman lay on the floor in the middle of the room, a red pool spreading across the floor from her head. The man standing over her held a laser pistol in one hand, a portable chip recorder in the other. He gazed at Davenport without expression.
"Hell of a long way to come for a two-minute fuck," he said conversationally. "Isn't it?"
Without waiting for a reply, he fired. The laser beam punched through Davenport's heart and he died instantly. The last thing he heard was the girl screaming behind him.
* * *
The vidphone woke Scarlett at shortly after 0300. She struggled awake and peered at the face in the tiny screen with gritty eyes. It was Martin.
"Scarlett, is that you?" he asked.
She turned on the video so he could see her.
"Martin, what is it? What's wrong?"
Vaughn looked weary, deflated.
"My darling," he said with difficulty, "I have sent some security men over to the house. They should be outside right now. They are goin' to bring you to my headquarters. Please get dressed and go with them."
Her forehead wrinkled in alarm.
"Martin … is somethin' wrong?"
"Yes, my love. I'm afraid there is. I will explain when I see you. Please get dressed now. There isn't much time."
"Martin, my stars! What —"
But he'd broken the connection.
Regina swung her feet out of bed and stared at the wall for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. A million possibilities ran through her head, and all
but four of them were bad. Something could have happened to Davenport. Something could have happened to Boyd. There could have been a fire at the plantation. The Feddies might be invading.
Or the espionage career of Regina Wells might be over.
She had no way of guessing which it might be. She dared not give in to panic; if her cover was still intact, a rash move could end that forever. She had to play her role to the bitter end, and trust to god or blind chance that she was still alive when she got there.
Drawing upon whatever inner reserve she had, whether her own or placed there by hypnopreparation, she got out of bed and shrugged into her sexiest green dress, brushed her hair until it resembled its natural self again, and proceeded to the door. Two men were there, both in SE uniform. That surprised her, for Martin had said they were his men.
"Mistress Vaughn?" one of them said brusquely.
"Yes."
He clicked his heels and touched the brim of his shiny black cap.
"I am Major Griffen. I have orders to escort you to General Field Marshal Vaughn's headquarters. Are you ready?"
"Why — yes, I suppose I am. Would you care for a cup of chocolate first?"
"No, Ma'am. My orders are to escort you immediately."
Scarlett stepped out of the house and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders against the night chill. The two men flanked her as they walked toward a military hovercar.
"Do you have any idea what this is about?" she asked, perplexed. "My husband was most vague on the phone."
"I am sure you will discover that when we arrive," Griffen said.
Scarlett
sat woodenly as they crossed the city in the hovercar. New Angeles sprawled below them like a jewel in the night. Traffic was light at that hour, but the skyholos were still lit, giving the entire city a carnival atmosphere. To Regina Wells, given the history of the Confederacy, and its impervious approach to human rights, it looked like decadence. She wondered if she was looking at it for the last time.
Vaughn's headquarters were located in the Citadel, a fortress built into the side of the mountains that ringed the city to the north. A thousand feet below the fortress was an army base that housed fifty thousand men. Here there were no skyholos, and very little activity, aside from the usual sentries and radar surveillance. The hovercar passed through six separate security gates before reaching a courtyard outside the main building. As Scarlett stepped out into the night wind, she looked back and saw New Angeles spread out below for twenty miles in the distance, a breathtaking view.
"This way, Ma'am."
The two men led her toward the building, through several internal checkpoints, and finally into an antigrav lift that dropped deep into the mountain. When they emerged they followed more winding corridors until they reached a large room. Inside sat Martin Vaughn and four other men she didn't know, all in uniform. When she saw her husband, Scarlett ran to him and threw her arms around his neck
"Martin! My love!"
Vaughn buried his face in her fluffy red hair and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"Is everything all right, Martin? Can you tell me what is goin' on?"
He nodded, his eyes still closed. His forehead creased with pain.
"Scarlett," he whispered, "you must understand one thing very clearly. I love you with all my heart and soul. I have never loved any woman more — and I never will."
She pulled back and looked into his eyes. They looked tortured.
"And I love you, Martin. I have loved you since the first time I ever saw you."
He compressed his lips and nodded.
"I know." He kissed her.
Then he gently pushed her back and stood up. With a supreme effort of will, he forced duty to the front and nodded at Major Griffen.
Griffen pulled her arms behind her back and snapped her wrists with E-cuffs. She turned to look at him, confusion in her eyes.
"Major Griffen … ?"
"Mistress Vaughn, I am placing you under arrest," he said, "for the crime of espionage."
Chapter 51
Citadel, New Angeles, Texiana, Sirius 1
"Before you deny your guilt," Major Griffen said calmly, "you should know that a full confession is required. You have no rights; if you fail to submit a full confession, you are subject to interrogation and torture to obtain one. If you falsely maintain your innocence you can be put to death for contempt of the Confederacy.
"Do you understand these requirements?" He gazed at her coldly.
Scarlett's mouth fell open, her eyes wide with horror. She began to tremble as with a chill. She turned from Griffen to Vaughn.
"M-Martin!" she gasped. "My stars! What — what on Sirius is he talkin' about?" Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Vaughn stared at her with emotion in his eyes. He chewed his upper lip and blinked rapidly, but didn't answer.
"Martin?" She begged him with her eyes, and he turned his back, walked toward a false window with a holoview, and stared into the distance for long seconds.
"Do you understand these requirements?" Griffen asked again, his voice hard.
"Yes! I understand them! But, what — I don't understand why you are tellin' me this! What do you mean, espionage? What have I done? Martin, tell him!"
Vaughn turned and walked back, stopping six feet away. His body trembled in spite of all he could do, and when he spoke his voice cracked.
"Scarlett, Captain Davenport is dead."
She gasped. Her eyes widened even further.
"He was followed when he left the house this mornin'. Major Griffen trailed him all the way to Asiana. He went to a slant whorehouse, and there he passed a message to a slant spy, who was goin' to subspace it back to the Federation."
Regina's eyes jerked toward Griffen.
"You killed Captain Davenport?" she gasped.
Griffen merely shrugged. "The SE polices its own."
"How do you know the slant was a spy?" she asked. "I caught him molestin' one of my servant girls, and I forbade him to ever do that again. Perhaps he simply needed the carnal relief."
"I hardly think that is likely," Martin said in a devastating whisper, his eyes narrow with pain. "He could have bedded you whenever he wanted."
She gulped. She couldn't help it — it was such a surprise.
"Martin! How could you even think such a thing of me?"
He rubbed a hand across his mouth and looked away, shaking his head.
"We know what Davenport was up to," Griffen said, "because the slant woman recorded what he told her." He held up the chip recorder. "I have it right here."
"And we know a lot more," Vaughn added, finding his voice again. "Your servant girl — Kim, I think her name is — recorded everything we needed to know. Your dalliance with Davenport, your discussions of military secrets; the fact that your real name is Regina Wells — far more than I ever wanted to know, frankly.
"At first I didn't believe it, was inclined to have the girl whipped for the things she was tellin' me. But … then she showed me her evidence. Instead of havin' her whipped, I am more inclined to give her a medal. She is only a slant serf, but at least she is loyal to the Confederacy!"
Regina's blood ran cold. Her entire body felt unnatural, and for long seconds she couldn't speak. They'd uncovered everything. She leaned against a desk for support. There was no longer any point in appealing to Vaughn as his wife, for now he knew better. She found she couldn't even meet his eyes.
"Tell me one thing," Vaughn said, stepping to within a foot of her. He lifted her chin and forced her to look at him. "You aren't really Scarlett Wallace, I know that. But … do you know where she is? Is — is she all right?"
Regina stared at him for fifteen seconds, considering her answer. There was no point pretending any more. She gazed at the man who'd considered her his wife for three years, the man with whom she'd slept, whom she'd loved with both her body and her heart. He wasn't an evil man, even if he was the head of the most evil military empire of modern times. He truly loved Scarlett Wallace, and deserved at least an answer.
She took a deep breath. When she spoke, her Georgia accent was gone, and she never used it again.
"I was told that she's alive," she said. "I assume we're holding her somewhere safe. I don't have any details."
He stared at her in amazement, as if he'd never really seen her before. If he'd harbored any doubt, any false hope that he was making a mistake, her strange accent dispelled it for all time. He nodded slowly.
"Thank you. Thank you for tellin' me."
She merely nodded. Griffen took her by the arm.
"General Field Marshal, if you are finished with her … "
Vaughn released her chin and stepped back. He looked at Griffen.
"Do me one favor," he said. "We already know everything we need to know. I do not believe it will be necessary to hurt her."
"Sir, she is a foreign spy, and we are in a war."
Vaughn's eyes flashed.
"Major, she is still my wife! Even though she is an imposter, she is the same woman with whom I exchanged vows, the same woman I bedded for three years. I am askin' you not to hurt her!"
Griffen blinked uncomfortably.
"General Field Marshall, I appreciate your feelin's. But with respect, I remind you that she is now a prisoner of the Sirian Elite Guards. I will keep your admonition in mind, but I am not empowered to make you any promises."
Vaughn stood breathing heavily, but knew when he was whipped. Not even a General Field Marshal dared oppose the SE, especially when the SE stood on righteous ground. He simply nodded.
"May I ask on
e question?" Regina ventured. "Did the message get out? Before you killed Davenport?"
Griffen shook his head grimly.
"No. It did not."
* * *
Griffen and the other SE man led Regina away. To her surprise, they didn't take her from the Citadel. Instead they pushed her ahead of them through another maze of corridors and lifts until they reached a small room where two other SE men were on duty. She remembered then that every military base had an SE office, and here Griffen was on his own turf. Anything he did here wasn't subject to Army jurisdiction or scrutiny.
Griffen issued a few terse instructions to the men and then pushed open a door into what looked like someone's private quarters. Regina saw a desk, a wardrobe, holos on the walls, and a narrow hoverbed. Everything was neat as a pin.
"Okay, Regina Wells," he said, shoving her down on the bed. "What happens now is fairly routine. Before you die you're going to experience a lot of this, so don't get the idea that you can hold your breath and everything will be okay."
She stared numbly as he removed his belt, his boots, his hat, his tunic. She realized she should be terrified, but for some unforeseen reason, all she felt was a euphoric nothing, as if she'd been tranquilized in advance. She wondered absently if her hypnopreparation had anticipated this possibility, and prepared her for its horrors.
"I must say," Griffen told her, breathing heavily, "you are one hell of a looker. Not a Vegan, but a goddamned fine lookin' Feddie."
He reached for her and ripped away the top of her green dress, peeling her to the waist. His hands closed over her plump peach-colored breasts, and his breathing became ragged. His mouth closed over hers and the fingers of his left hand twined themselves in her thick red hair. She trembled under his probing kiss but still felt no terror. She realized she should be struggling, but felt no desire to do so. In any case, the E-cuffs would deliver enough electricity to stun her if she did.
Griffen went for her skirt next, jerked it clear of her body, and flung it away. Her panties followed, and then he had his pants off. He pressed Regina heavily into the hoverbed as he covered her lengthwise, and she panted with nervous anticipation — but still felt no fear. He entered her like a battering ram through a wooden gate, all at once, driving deep into her with all his strength. She felt the pain, and it was worse than she'd expected. She cried out in sudden agony, arching her back under him, pinned beneath his weight. He gripped her hair in both hands, pulling it tightly as he closed his fingers, and held her just where he wanted while he raped her. Still she felt no fear, just the pain, and remained rational enough to realize that what was happening wasn't an act of sex, but a method of punishment.