The Alliance

by David Andrews

  The guard had probed the edge closest to him and had raised the pike to probe the central core when a movement within it made him leap backwards. An angry black and white rodent with white stripes running down its back emerged from the shrubbery and turned so its raised tail faced the guard. He fled, and so did the searchers on either side while Anneke roared with relieved laughter. She knew that animal and its malodorous defense mechanism.

  Jack had done it again.

  A non-commissioned guard officer came running down the line to investigate the disturbance and berated all three. “Leave the bloody bushes alone and get on with the search. If there were anyone in there, we’d smell them for a mile by now. My best uniform still stinks from the last time you upset that bloody animal.” Like most of the guards, the sergeant was a townie, but he’d learned this lesson the hard way. “We need to be finished and back in concealment before full light.”

  The search line reformed beyond the shrubbery and Jack was safe.

  * * * *

  Rachael’s circumstances changed. She was now a prisoner in the palace, secured to the guardroom wall by a chain locked snugly around her waist. It gave her just enough slack to lie down on a pallet placed against the wall for sleeping. During the day, she folded the pallet and sat on it with her back against the wall. Apart from the sleeping off-duty guards, she was alone, the normally bustling guardroom quiet. Her servants still brought her food, although the guards plundered half of it, and they had arranged a curtained enclosure for her privy, a concession granted grudgingly.

  The temple maidens were idle, the palace compound quiet. There was a brooding air of expectation over everything, the sense of an impending explosion—even the guards spoke quietly. The Pontiff saw no one, spending the time in his chamber monitoring the search. Everyone knew the net was closing on the spacer. They’d discovered proof he’d passed the first ring and was less than twenty miles from the Treaty Port. The prestige of the Papacy hung on his capture, particularly now word had leaked of the ambassador’s deadline. There was even talk of Federation cruisers lurking the other side of the portal, ready to invade, an idea Rachael knew to be preposterous. The Federation didn’t have cruisers.

  Her servants arrived with a washing bowl filled with warmed scented water, thick towels, and her temple maiden’s outfit. “Mistress. You will want to look your best today.”

  They woke one guard and chivied him into unlocking the chain around her waist, forcing him to stand with his back to her corner while she stripped and washed herself. The guard was of common stock and surrendered to the ingrained respect all his kind showed the Elite of their race.

  This morning there was a touch of fear as well.

  Rachael took her time, enjoying the unrestricted movement. She didn’t understand the undercurrents. The Papacy had long crushed all resistance, its guards more a symbol than a military force, yet she’d felt this air of expectation before. It usually preceded an uprising against the establishment, a welling up of dissatisfaction waiting for a trigger—the one element missing. No focal point waited to concentrate the groundswell of opposition.

  Why?

  The spacer, Jack, was the son of an Elite, and he was becoming more of a hero everyday. Had the Alliance found the perfect means of denying this world to the Federation—depose the Pontiff and replace him with one of their own? It had the mark of their thinking.

  Her male servant touched her shoulder. “Mistress. The Pontiff comes. You must be as he expects.”

  Rachael nodded and lifted her arms so the guard could lock the chain around her waist. He did it half apologetically, but it was still too snug for her to escape.

  She didn’t want them implicated. “Withdraw. I will face him alone.”

  The two servants bowed and took their leave, impressing Rachael with their simple dignity. Either something had changed, or she’d been incredibly blind.

  The Pontiff entered, trailed by a silent priest/scribe. “Woman, the deadline approaches for your return to the Federation.” He looked tired, but his voice sounded strong. “I’m of a mind to do it, threats or no.” He turned to the guard. “Give me your pike while you unlock her chain.” The man hesitated. “Now. Do it now.” The Pontiff’s voice rose and he held out his right hand for the weapon.

  The guard handed him the weapon and took the keys from the table as he approached Rachael. She held up her arms and watched him unlock the chain. He needed a bath and her nose wrinkled at the sourness as he stepped closer to take the weight of the chain.

  “Drop the chain and step away from her,” the Pontiff’s ordered.

  Rachael looked up. He’d raised the pike for a killing thrust, its needle-sharp point aimed at the base of her throat.

  * * * *

  Jack could see the gate leading into the temple and the other leading into the Federation compound. Only a hundred yards separated him from his goal—a hundred yards and twice as many guards.

  He hadn’t expected to make it this far, but it seemed a pity to fail this close to victory. He would have to trust this last throw of the dice to his disguise, but the ploy was so obvious.

  He’d stolen a guard’s uniform.

  “Arm me, audacity.” He made the plea aloud as he set his face in sullen weariness, walking toward the knot of guards as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. None of them were happy, and he had to fit in seamlessly to succeed. A second glance would bring him undone. If he was close enough to the gate, he might just break through. If he wasn’t...

  The distance shrank and no one noticed his approach, all focused on something happening behind him. He didn’t dare turn around, just hoped their distraction would last.

  “There he is.” He recognized the voice, the deep cover agent from Trygon.

  As one, the guards came to ceremonial attention, pikes vertical at their sides, the crash of their hobnailed sandals on the pavement sending the birds flying into the air in fear. A non-commissioned officer turned to face him and gave a full honors salute. “Your orders, sir.”

  * * * *

  Rachael saw her death in the Pontiff’s eyes and played desperately for time. “Why?” Her body shook uncontrollably. The reversal of fortunes had been too complete. She was a little girl again, an adult looming over her bed in the dark.

  “I allowed you and the spacer to distract me. It gave them time to prepare while I stripped the palace of its defenses. It’s too late now, and I can’t reach the spacer, but you’re here.” He gathered himself for the thrust.

  “Holy Father,” Lothar, spoke from the doorway.

  She could see the shock in the Pontiff’s face. He’d thought himself alone.

  “You’re one of them, too,” he said and the pike point wandered.

  She tensed herself to run, but the air shimmered and a man stood between her and the Pontiff. She was transfixed as he took the pike from the Pontiff’s hands.

  “Yes, he’s one of us.” The newcomer’s voice sounded pleasant, but his presence was magnificent. Put this man in the middle of a crowd, and he would still be a king. “It’s time for you to come home.”

  The Pontiff had turned back as the pike dropped from his hand. “Who are you?” His voice quavered slightly. “How did you get here?”

  “Feodar always called me the soldier, but my name is Peter. It’s dangerous for you to stay. I’m taking you to where you’ll be safe.”

  The air shimmered again and they disappeared.

  “I will escort you to the Federation compound,” the priest said, holding out his hand. “You’re safe now.”

  Rachael heard him from a distance. Her knees were jelly and she was falling. A black pit opened before her and she dove in.

  * * * *

  “Rachael needs you.”

  Jack ignored the deep cover agent’s explanation at Peter’s summons, sprinting like a madman through the cheering crowd who emerged from the village and swirled through the grounds of the temple. They made way for him with smiles. He was their h
ero, the local boy who’d defied the Pontiff for months. He hardly saw them, driven by a terrible fear. A figure beckoned at the palace door, a priest by his clothes, and Jack cursed Peter’s prohibition on translocating here, his breath rasping in his throat as he ran.

  “Please, let her live,” he gasped and ran on, forcing his body beyond its limits.

  “She’ll live.” Peter’s thought was gentle. “I have plans for her, but she needs you now.”

  Jack reached the palace and his hob-nailed guard sandals skidded on the marble floor of the guardroom. He brushed aside the two Elite servants kneeling at Rachael’s side and lifted her in his arms.

  She stirred, her arms going around his neck as her eyes opened. “Are you going to spank my bottom now? You promised.” Her words had the child-like quality of deep shock, but the arms around his neck tightened as she buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m so tired,” she whispered. “You took so long coming.”

  “I’m here now. Nothing can harm you.”

  “I know.” Her eyelids drooped and the relaxation of her arms told him she slept.

  * * * *

  Peter stood in Limbo, the Pontiff at his side, and watched Jack carry the unconscious Rachael toward the Federation compound. She’d have to go back to her people for a while, but they’d send her back, and Jack would be happy. He’d failed Jesse and Anneke. Perhaps Jean-Paul would come back with an answer in time to save these two.

  The Pontiff turned to him inquiringly. “Is she worth it?”

  “What do you mean?” The man had proved himself an able adversary and, for Feodar’s sake, they owed him much.

  “You’ve compromised your security. The Federation will work out these portals exist when they debrief her. It will make them harder to defeat.”

  Peter sensed Jack’s emotions. “She’s worth it,” he said. “These two will hold your world against the worst the Federation can do. In fifty years time there will be a stable democracy here.” Jack didn’t yet know about his first independent operation, or that he’d have Rachael’s help.

  Chapter Ten

  Rachael came back to Feodar’s World in style, wafted through the new ground level portal in the rear seat of a luxurious ground effect vehicle. The outgoing Federation ambassador greeted her in full uniform, his orders and decorations gleaming in the sunlight.

  Yet, she was nervous. Twelve months of intense therapy were not part of the normal qualification for a Federation ambassador and her decision to arrive in a plain federation uniform, without insignia or rank, suddenly seemed flawed.

  “You’ll find a lot changed.” The ambassador smiled as he entered the vehicle and sat down beside her. “You’re a local heroine, the obvious choice as my replacement. The President has expressed his pleasure at your appointment and has asked to see you immediately.”

  “He has?” Rachael whispered a prayer her choice of the plain uniform and chignon hairstyle would remind the president of the meal they’d shared together as agents. He’d complimented her appearance then and it might tempt him to overlook her part in what happened after that meal.

  Her companion sensed her unease. “He says this world owes you honor and he has a personal debt.”

  “Yes. I betrayed him and sabotaged his ship.” She wondered whether the President was referring to his promise in the restaurant to spank her and smiled nervously. It would be a novel way to start a diplomatic relationship.

  “He holds no grudges, but you’ve drawn a tough assignment. He’s a skilled negotiator and his loyalty to his people makes him incorruptible.”

  “His people? I thought he was Alliance and the rest his operational legend.”

  “He undoubtedly worked with them, but the Elite of Trygon now claims him as a son and the records back it up. They sent him off world to prepare him for his role in deposing the pontiff. Joining the Alliance was a logical step.”

  “Why not us?” She knew the answer, but she was curious what reason a trained diplomat and negotiator would give.

  “The Alliance has no record of colonization. His father wanted no inconvenient loyalties getting in the way.” This man had no illusions about his role.

  He tapped the driver on the shoulder and they drove toward the Temple. More surprises. Where the gate had been, a broad thoroughfare led to a bustling market and the inner circle buildings all boasted signs naming them university faculties.

  “The priests now teach and education is free to all. The administration disburses the income from our trading licenses to support gifted students and is building regional schools everywhere. Be careful, he understands our bottom line obsession and punishes transgressions by attacking profits.” His tone sounded rueful. An admission of lessons learned the hard way.

  They passed the inner circle and reached the gardens surrounding the palace. The changes here were subtle and she had to look hard to see the vegetables and fruits growing among the flowers of the ornamental garden beds.

  “This is part of the University too. He’s made it self-sufficient in food and the horticulture faculty students run it. We should catch up with him at the fish farm on the seaward side of the estate. He’s helping in the set-up.” The ambassador seemed amused.

  They drove around the palace and reached the beach, no longer hemmed in by a wall, the debris used to build a causeway and seawall enclosing a shallow lagoon. A knot of uniformed Federation advisors stood on a barge directing the efforts of workers in the water, the latter stripped to the waist at least—she couldn’t see if they wore anything below the level of chest deep water.

  “We’ll have to walk from here.” The ambassador waited for the driver to open the door. “Keep to the duck boards till we reach the causeway.”

  Rachael had added to her height with stiletto heels. She retained the vague impression the President stood taller and wanted him to have no avoidable advantage at this first official meeting. She viewed the thirty feet of duckboards with some suspicion and hoped the causeway surface wasn’t cobbled. A stumbling approach would do nothing to calm her nerves.

  Helped out of the vehicle by the ambassador, she stood for a moment, her eyes searching the crowded barge. Her memories of him were sharp and augmented by recent holograms. She should recognize him.

  “As usual, he’s in the thick of it.” The ambassador felt amused and he pointed at the forward edge of the barge, but Rachel recognized no one. She’d have to get closer.

  The causeway surface was rough, claiming her attention to avoid stumbles, and the gangway down to the barge tried her balance even further, so she reached the group of Federation advisors still puzzled. Seeing their attention was on the water, she turned, just as a worker duck-dove to the bottom, giving her a glimpse of bare buttocks as he disappeared. She saw no sign of Jack. She turned back to the ambassador, who’d followed her, and found him grinning at some private joke. She hesitated to ask the obvious question, but a familiar voice saved her.

  “Hello, Rachael. Glad you could join us. I’ll be with you as soon as we secure the bottom netting.” The naked worker had resurfaced. His grin showed white against the weathered brown of his face. Jack.

  “Hello, Mister President.” She tried to keep it formal. “I’ve come to present my credentials.”

  “You called me Jack before. Nothing important has changed, and you don’t need credentials here. You’re welcome in any capacity you chose to assume.” He swam the few strokes to the barge and reached up to take her hand.

  She bent down and placed her hand in his, wondering all the time whether she was being wise. It would take little effort on his part to tip her into the water.

  He seemed to sense her thought, for his grip tightened an instant before he relinquished her hand. “Walk back to your vehicle. I’ll join you there as soon as I can.”

  She’d forgotten the impact of those eyes. “Thank you, Mister President. I appreciate you taking the time to speak to me.” A flush warmed her cheeks at his smile.

  His face looked leaner and bro
wner than she remembered, his body hard and fit with physical labor. She saw an air of contentment in his manner. This was a man doing a worthwhile job and enjoying it. He winked deliberately as he turned away and Rachael’s cheeks warmed further. She’d underestimated how difficult this man would prove and he seemed determined to bypass protocol.

  * * * *

  Jack watched her make her way back onto the causeway. She looked much as he remembered her; a million-credit beauty who could switch in an instant from femme fatale to the girl you’d take home to Mother. There were more shadows in her mind though, and a lurking terror imperfectly recognized. His grandmother was right. Rachael needed help.

  He smiled suddenly.

  Not even Peter opposed Dael when she decided someone needed help. Rachael didn’t know it yet, but she’d gained a powerful champion—one whose overwhelming love could weave miracles of healing. The Pontiff was already improving under his grandmother’s gentle care. He’d added another syllable to his ancestors name and become D’feodar. He would never be entirely trustworthy and remain under the supervision of the Group Mind until old age removed him from temptation. It was a better fate than he’d earned here. Jack still had trouble forgiving him for the way he’d treated Rachael.

  The family had analyzed the return voyage to the Treaty Port in detail, taking the details from his memory and adding their own impressions from the moments when one or the other had checked his well being. Their consensus was he’d done well in the field operation, but needed more strategic thought.

  “The woman worked out why we needed a hero,” his father said. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I was a little busy surviving.” Jack thought Karrel unfair.

  “She was under direct threat of death too and had only her brains to defend herself. I followed her thought processes with interest.” His father shook his head. “She did very well, better than you in this respect. You’ll learn much from her.”