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 Increased prosperity and better education led to the dismantling of outdated institutions barring the way to further progress, and finally, to full integration.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.
He returned to the hangar and supervised the loading of his ship. They’d located the portal in the stratosphere to justify planetary flights. Once they achieved full integration, it would come down to earth and land transport would pass through it like a physical tunnel between worlds. Until then, it provided cover for clandestine flights like his.
“Sign here.” The Federation official had a smirk on his face. He knew the cargo wasn’t going off-planet as the form testified. The security in this place was non-existent. The Federation ambassador had grown fat and lazy on the easy profits. He’d go to the wall soon, and a leaner, hungrier version would take his place.
Jack read the details on the hand-held. It gave his departure time, 2105 hours. Strict regulations covered passage through the portal, so there was a backup time as well, just within his fuel endurance for planetary flight, 0545 hours. He’d use this one after his detour. “I’ll be in the pilot’s lounge,” he said, placing his thumb on the touchpad and waiting until the scanner light turned green. “Have her on the pad at 2045 hours. I’ll do my final inspection before I board.” He palmed a twenty-credit chip and transferred it with a handshake.
The official peeked at the bribe and smiled. “Those temple maidens are hot. I might try one.”
Jack’s grunt was noncommittal. The alternative was punching the smirk off the man’s face. “2045 hours.”
“Right, Captain. 2045 hours on the pad.” The official tugged an imaginary forelock and bobbed in a derisory parody of subservience.
Knowing any response wasn’t worth the effort, Jack turned on his heel and strode away. He had two hours. He could eat or nap.
The restaurant was closer and that decided it for him.
The food was good, and he took his time. Shipboard rations had not improved over the years, and he enjoyed food enough to worry about his waistline occasionally.
He was just finishing his second dessert when there was a commotion behind him. He turned in time for the blow intended for the side of his face to catch him on the back of his head. He allowed the impact to carry him out of his chair into a twisting somersault that put him on his feet in a fighting stance facing his assailant.
It was a very angry Rachael in Federation uniform, her red hair swept up into a chignon. Her handler had acted promptly, possibly a little too promptly from her expression. “You presumptuous bastard,” she shrieked. “Years of work blown in a second because you knew better.”
The restaurant was not the place for this confrontation. He had to act before she blew whatever remained of his cover. “Darling.” He made it a lover’s greeting and took her in a passionate embrace.
She struggled furiously for nearly a minute, biting his lip when he tried to kiss her and making two attempts to knee him in the groin. He avoided both and held on until she realized how much stronger he was and her struggles subsided. She whispered, “Let me go,” in his ear.
“Not till you kiss me properly. This must be seen as a lover’s tiff.”
Reason filtered through her rage, and she remembered they played a dangerous game. Her body went soft and pliant. “Darling,” she said aloud and kissed him lustily to the laughter of the other diners.
“Have you eaten?” The kiss ended, and they’d separated with the appearance of reluctance not supported by the blaze in her eyes, which were an attractive hazel now she’d removed the colored contact lenses.
“No. I haven’t had the time. They sent for me as soon as you called.” She struggled to make her voice sound normal, but the rage still burned.
“That’s good. Would you like me to order? They have your favorite on the menu.”
“Roast pig?”
“They call it pork, dear.” He liked her. She was an amateur at this game compared to him, but not a fool. He righted his chair and held out the one opposite for her.
She allowed him to seat her and waited until he resumed his. “I think I’ll look at the menu instead. There may be something that takes my fancy.”
“Of course.” He signaled the waitress. “A drink first? Something long and cold?”
“Do they serve hemlock here?”
“I was thinking of you.”
He watched her process that, reading into his words more than he ever intended.
“Were you?”
The waitress saved him from having to respond, and he sat quie
tly while the two women discussed the menu. The uniform suited Rachael after the intentionally revealing temple attendant’s dress. She looked smart and feminine, a girl to take proudly home to mother. He lost himself in the amusement of the imagined scene, wondering which of the pair would survive.
Rachael had ordered and was studying his face, ready to take offense, her hands crossed on the table before her. “What’s funny?”
The truth was always best, providing he edited it a little. “I was thinking how much better the uniform suited you.”
“You didn’t like my temple outfit?” He heard an edge to her voice. It was time to tread warily.
A diversionary feint might buy him time. “Your eyes look much better without the lenses.”
“I wasn’t seductive enough?”
He’d have to do better. “I enjoyed this afternoon.”
“We all make sacrifices.” She grew angry again.
“If you’re going to hit me again, wait till we get outside.” He’d had enough. “Until then, accept the compliment, and act like you’re in love.”
“What would you know about being in love?”
He glanced around, trying to make it look natural as he assessed the distance to the nearest couple, and then leaned close to hide his lips from any watchers, his hands coming to rest on hers. “You’re right. I’m a cold-blooded professional who cares for nothing but my mission. I ignore frightened women in danger, and the risks to small children and cuddly animals mean nothing to me. Keep going the way you are, and I’ll throw you back to the Pontiff. He’d probably take you.” She tried to draw back, but he prevented it by pulling her hands toward him. “Be a good little girl, or I’ll put you across my knee and give you the spanking you deserve.”
She struggled to free her hands without making it obvious, a mark in her favor, and then gave up and waited for him to release her, the tip of a pink tongue making a tantalizingly brief appearance between subtly carmined lips, more as a clue to the direction of her thoughts than as a gesture of defiance. The anger drained from her eyes, replaced by an expression he couldn’t quite fathom.
“I’d like that too.” Almost the same words she’d used this afternoon.
Damn the woman, didn’t she have any sense of time and place?
* * * *
He had to hurry his final checks, arrived late on the platform and clambered into his cockpit seat with his flight suit sticking damply to his back.
Rachael was a minx. He’d kept her at bay through the meal, but she’d twined herself around him when they left the restaurant, whispering suggestions about her quarters. His virtue was still intact, but only just. He didn’t blame her. He felt the same way after a mission, filled with the need to ensure his immortality by sowing his seeds willy-nilly, an understandable reaction to long periods of mortal fear. She’d find someone else once he left.
“Flight x-ray, x-ray, delta, four, minus sixty seconds and counting.”
“Control, this is x-ray, x-ray, delta, four, powering up.” He flicked the final switches, lifting the operating temperature of all drives to takeoff levels. The ship quivered, as if anxious to leave. He glanced at the external monitors, checking the area was clear. She still stood in the observation bubble, one hand half raised in farewell.
The auto-sequencer kicked in, turning the two control stalks live, and he loosened his grip to allow them to operate without interference, ready to take manual control should anything go wrong.
“Ten, nine, eight,” the countdown continued to zero and the ship lifted off smoothly, the figure in the observation bubble shrinking with distance.
* * * *
Rachael had a bitter taste in her mouth. She’d done her job perfectly, pleased both sets of masters. Jack had identified himself as something more than a freelance smuggler, and she’d distracted him while the Federation people planted the device. Now she had to inform the Federation of the new location and go back into her undercover role. The Pontiff’s people would do the rest. It was a pity. She liked Jack, but he understood her needs too well and this made him dangerous.
Double-agenting was wearing. She didn’t know how much longer she could last. He’d been right in guessing she was reaching the end of her endurance—he was good in everything except this throwback sense of chivalry. Noblesse oblige always grew from a secret sense of being born to rule, and the Alliance had it in spades. It came with their longevity.
If she were an immortal, she’d cherish the gift, not walk with it held in the open palm of her hand, daring one and all to take it. They were all crazy and deserved whatever happened to them, him especially.
She’d enjoyed both the afternoon and the evening and hated him for it. He knew too much about her, including things she’d shared with no other and felt half-ashamed of wanting. She had a dark side to her sexuality. The element of being forced excited her too much, triggering unrestrained responses she couldn’t control. It fascinated and repelled her at the same time, and he’d teased her, using it deliberately to heighten her enjoyment, sending her spiraling out of control, making her his willing slave.
He’d do more if he returned.
She shuddered at the thought, hugging herself and trying to believe she was glad he wouldn’t get the chance.
* * * *
Jack waited until the Treaty Port fell below the radar horizon and took manual control, breaking out of the flight path to the portal and descending to hover above the darkened sea off Trygon while he waited for the signal. The island lay to the west, and his ship was in the greater blackness of the night, away from the crescent moon. The second moon wouldn’t rise for two hours, and he had an hour to wait. He dimmed the instrument lights and settled himself more comfortably in the seat.
He was glad they’d pulled Rachael. She was too valuable an asset to waste on a harebrained scheme like this. The Federation must be getting desperate. He was surprised when he found out the details and wondered why he’d been involved, yet the orders had come from his grandfather. Peter always played a deeper game than appeared on the surface—a dangerous situation for the man on the ground.
To fill in the time, he set the computer to a deep security check, something he’d neglected before liftoff. It would compare every piece of data to a calculated model of the ship and alert him to any anomalies. He’d never found anything with it, but it was standard procedure in preventing stowaways and interference. He’d skipped it because he knew he wasn’t going direct to the portal.
Rachael popped back into his mind.
The woman was haunting his thoughts, niggling in the background for attention. He was too professional for this, and the odds against them meeting again were astronomical. He’d do this job and return to his nice safe job in the Family’s home world. He’d completed his sixty-mission qualification for operational command and was waiting assignment. Let the younger ones take the risks.
It was exciting in the beginning, and he’d been full of zeal, but then the narrow escapes had mounted as he’d taken on the more difficult tasks and seen people of his seniority fall around him. Toward the end, the pressure of numbers had grown, and he’d wondered whether the sixty-mission qualification for advancement was not a convoluted way of balancing longevity. He became careful, watchful, suspicious, ideal qualities in an operational commander.
It made this mission hard to understand. It was ideal for a first timer—simple, requiring more dash than thought, the perfect blooding for someone just out of training. Why had they chosen him—especially on Feodar’s World where the pact denied him the use of translocation?
Rachael. What about her?
Why did he keep coming back to her? She was pretty enough, a good sexual partner with more than a hint of dark fire, but relationships with norms, once called commoners, were doomed from the start. He’d hardly change over her full life span. He’d qualified for command and could marry if he chose. It was better to stick to his kind.
Could he be confusing personal and operational
concerns? Was his mind coming back to her for operational reasons? Had she done something out of kilter?
The computer interrupted, beeping its concern. The scan had discovered an anomaly. He turned to the screen. It was a subtle change in the capacitance of the control circuits. Some device added since the last scan probably. He called up the schematics and studied them. The area wasn’t accessible in flight.
He’d have to land.
The maps were next, and there was nothing close to give concealment. He’d have to put down in the sea, out of sight of land. The ship was amphibious. It had to be for this mission. He needed satellite pictures for the weather, and there were none in this area.
He’d have to go visual, using the night-vision goggles.
The shields slid back from the cockpit, and he dropped to a hundred feet above the ocean. The conditions were marginal, with a long ocean swell and a cross sea from the westerly wind. It would have to do. He wasn’t going anywhere until he’d checked those circuits.
A final check of the map, some guesses about ocean currents, and he had his landing spot. He turned to the same heading as the swell and descended. He’d have to button up the hull to ensure he floated as high as possible, and this meant cutting the power and dropping the final few feet onto the back of a passing swell.
It was going well until an alarm screeched and all his controls went dead. The ship dropped like a stone, fortunately onto the top of a swell, and surfed down the back slope to bury itself in the trough. Everything was chaotic. The impact threw him against his harness with enough force to drive the wind from his lungs, and the feeble starlight disappeared when a wall of water covered the cockpit canopy.
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