The Alliance

by David Andrews

  “What do you mean?” His father never made slips of the tongue.

  “We’re giving you your first independent mission. Fifty years to establish a stable democracy on Feodar’s world. She’ll be part of it.” Karrel held up his hand and began ticking the points on his fingers. “General education, trade agreements ensuring continued independence from the Federation, modernize the economy, create political awareness, and foster the habit of reasoned debate.” He smiled. “The Federation will respond with whatever weapons it can find, particularly the woman. As soon as they’re sure of her loyalty, they’ll send her back and hope you start thinking with what lies between your legs.”

  Jack acknowledged his father had been right, but then he usually was.

  * * * *

  Rachael returned to the vehicle knowing he’d out maneuvered her once more. Diplomatic protocol had ensured Jack knew the exact time she’d arrive. He’d set this up to throw her off-balance and she’d walked straight into it. She bit her lower lip in vexation. Stumbled was a better description.

  It wasn’t a good start.

  She had no illusions about her selection for this position, but it represented an escape from fieldwork and she must succeed. There was no going back. When the ambassador handed her into the vehicle she seated herself, surreptitiously cleaning the sand from her shoes on the carpet while he made his way around to the other side. Fortunately, he sensed her disinclination to talk and they sat silent while they waited. Rachael looked down at the floor, thinking hard.

  A half memory had surfaced with the touch of his hand. She wasn’t sure whether it was real or another of the phantasms created by a mind overstressed by fear, but she thought she remembered Jack carrying her in his arms after her escape from the Pontiff, while he verbally flayed those around her into action. Like her memory of the Pontiff’s escape from this world, it had the unreal feel of a dream and her therapists had labeled it a trick of her mind turning desire into memory.

  “Here he comes.”

  The ambassador’s voice brought her back to the present and Rachael looked up. Jack swam toward them, powering though the water like a trained athlete. She saw a towel and some folded clothes on the sand, twenty feet from the water’s edge. He wasn’t missing a trick. She’d have to watch him or appear a prude.

  Damn. This job wasn’t going to be easy, and she’d underestimated him badly.

  Jack emerged from the water and her body reacted, months of therapy destroyed in an instant, and the memory of their love-making in the temple startlingly clear. His epic journey back to the Treaty Port had stripped him down to the essential musculature, all excess weight gone, and he looked magnificent—a superior predator in its prime. There was something else as well, a refining of a quality she’d already noted and admired. He was a king without arrogance, a god with humility, utterly complete in himself.

  A small child approached him and he squatted down to bring their faces level, following the child’s animated speech with a broad smile. His head nodded in agreement. When the mother arrived to reclaim the little girl, he stood, lifting the child in his arms.

  Rachael couldn’t hear the conversation, but obviously the mother apologized and he’d deflected the apology and led the woman into talking about herself and her family. Her outstretched arm indicated the workers in the water and he turned to identify her subject, nodding when he did and adding some words of praise. The woman’s expression as she took the child from his arms made Rachael hate her.

  “He does that sort of thing all the time,” the ambassador said. “It makes guards redundant and our undercover people either swap sides or are sent back to us shame-faced.”

  “There must be some reaction to the changes he’s made. He can’t be pleasing everyone.”

  “It’s still honeymoon time. They’ve never had a leader directly concerned with their welfare and will forgive him anything because he obviously cares. He does nothing to persuade them, just gets on with the job of modernizing, spreading the benefits as far as he can. It’s disheartening how well he succeeds.”

  Rachael considered the situation and spoke, more to herself than to her companion. “He’s forcing us into competing for their loyalty.”

  “You’re right. Which makes it strange he’s done nothing to tarnish your reputation? I think he actually fosters the idea you are more the heroine than he ever was a hero.” The ambassador shook his head at the foolishness.

  Rachael nodded thoughtfully. “He wants us to compete. My status gives us the tools and he intends we use them. He must be confident he can limit our gains.” She turned to stare at Jack. “My return is part of his plan.” He’d finished speaking to the woman and was on his way again. “We’ll play a waiting game. Find out what else he has in mind.” She’d taken charge.

  “They said you were too good to remain a field operative.” The ambassador smiled. “I can understand why I was sent into the Temple to pressure the Pontiff for your release.”

  “It came close to getting me killed.” Rachael only pushed away the memory of the glittering pike point aimed at her throat, and the Pontiff’s eyes behind it, because Jack had reached the vehicle.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “It was thoughtless of me to spoil your big moment. You’ve earned more consideration than this. If you’d like to present your credentials, I’ll accept them formally and we’ll have a proper welcoming shindig in a week or two, probably borrow the Grand Hall.” His expression looked contrite, but she detected a flicker of mischief in his eyes.

  “Perhaps I’ll wait until you’re more appropriately attired.” She must hold her own.

  Jack looked down at his worn work shirt and shorts, as if seeing them for the first time. “You’re right,” he said. “Give me an hour and we’ll meet in the center of the market square. It’ll make everyone take notice.”

  “An hour,” Rachael agreed. “I can walk there from the compound.”

  “Thank you. I’ll look forward to it.” His smile suggested he anticipated her company rather than the ceremony.

  He’s doing this to me, she thought. Why do I believe I can sense what he’s thinking? He’s standing there, watching me process this, and smiling as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. I know it’s impossible, but it doesn’t change a thing.

  “I’ll go then.” It came out as if she’d asked his permission. This was insufferable.

  “It will give me time to prepare.” He agreed with her, laughing all the time in his mind.

  Rachael forced herself to sit back in the seat. “Drive to the compound,” she told the driver, and felt thankful when the vehicle lifted from the ground and started moving. The air blast from under the skirts sent sand flying around Jack’s ankles, but he didn’t flinch. She could feel his eyes watching her, but didn’t dare return his gaze. This was harder than she thought.

  She felt grateful the outgoing ambassador chose to remain silent as the vehicle made its way to the compound. All her embryonic plans for dealing with Jack were in disarray, and she had only an hour to recast them.

  The Federation had sprung a high level leak.

  It was the only logical explanation for Jack’s success in either turning or exposing every agent. The man at her side would be a good source. He could ignore Federation procedure and scan all the files, identifying the agents and passing the information to Jack, probably not directly. Additionally, he’d been here through the final days of the Papacy, and his move to save her had surprised everyone. The Alliance had shown their skill in turning high-level personnel before. This could be another example.

  Rachael gnawed her lower lip.

  “We’re there.” The ambassador broke his silence. “I assume you’ll go alone to this meeting.”

  “Y-yes.” She hadn’t considered it yet, but it felt right.

  “Then we’ll make this the formal handover. Congratulations, Madame Ambassador. Good Luck. I envy you the challenge. Most postings are boring. This one will be anything but.” He stepped
out of the vehicle and offered her his hand.

  “Thank you.” Rachael alighted and shook his hand. “I hope I’m up to it.”

  “If you didn’t have the confidence of the Federation, you wouldn’t be here, and it wasn’t built on failure.”

  It was the catch cry of the organization. She’d heard it personally at least a thousand times. It claimed omniscience for an entity spread across hundreds of worlds and based on a planet whose reflected light would take millennia to reach this planet. Once, it filled her with pride at being part of it. Now, she no longer felt sure.

  Her doubts made her angry, and she unconsciously squared her shoulders. She’d accepted this responsibility willingly. It was her choice and hers alone. Let others lean on catch cries, she’d come into this with her eyes open. “I’ll let you attend to your packing.” She was in charge now. “Take as long as you want. I’ll have my things sent to the guest suite. I’m going to walk around the market and get the feel of things before I meet him again.”

  “A wise move.” Her predecessor smiled. “Don’t bother with the guest suite. I had plenty of warning. My attaché moved the last of my things while we were away. I’ll make my farewells and be gone when you return. Once again, Good Luck.” He thrust out his hand.

  “Thank you.” She shook hands again and watched him depart, standing alone in the sunlight until the doors closed behind him, before turning to the bustle of the Market Square. She had much to learn.

  Her first lesson came as she reached the market. Everyone recognized her. Children smiled shyly, adults nodded their approval and called greetings.

  “I saw him hurrying,” one oldster chuckled. “I can now see why.” He glanced over his shoulder and nodded to a hidden watcher. “My granddaughter has something for you.”

  A young girl, about eight years old and hurriedly dressed in her best clothes, curtseyed and presented her with a posy. Rachael squatted down to bring herself to the child’s height and spoke with her for several minutes, casually straightening the blouse where it had caught in the waistband and tucking errant curls into an askew headband. She had nieces the same age and it came naturally. The smiles around her grew, triggering a thoughtful reaction in Rachael’s mind. She was copying Jack’s treatment of the child, jumping through a hoop he’d shown her. It galled her, but she continued until she sensed the child’s restlessness and stood up. The child curtseyed again and fled back to the anonymity of the crowd, surrendering to renewed self-consciousness once she lost the focus of Rachael’s interest.

  Another lesson.

  One of the Elite approached, a former priest by the look of his hair, the tonsure not completely grown out. “Greetings, Madame Ambassador. Your return has brought joy to many. We need proven friends when facing so many challenges.” He wore the plain kilt and matching jacket with pride. The Pontiff had banned the traditional dress of the Elite, but she’d seen at least a score wearing it since her return. It was quite attractive.

  “Thank you. The Federation stands ready to help wherever it can.”

  A shadow of disapproval, quickly gone, greeted her words, but he bowed low. “My greeting was a personal one. I saw your courage when I served the Pontiff.”

  Rachael looked at his face again and recognized the priest/scribe who’d freed her from the guardroom. “I am so sorry,” she said, stepping close and holding out her hand. “I didn’t recognize you.”

  “You only saw me once and the circumstances were difficult.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I am your devoted servant.”

  Rachael sensed more than a polite phrase. “You are not here by accident.”

  “He thought you might find a guide useful.”

  “A guide or a guard?”

  “You have no need of a guard here. The commoners revere your courage, as do we of the Elite. My role is to answer your questions as truthfully as I can. He would have nothing hidden from you.”

  “Does that instruction extend to everyone?” It was a futile question, but she could think of nothing else to ask.

  “No one fears his wrath. They will answer as they choose.” The Elite had read her meaning better. “All honor your faithfulness and condemn the Federation’s tardiness in coming to your aid. They will judge whether you ask on the Federation’s behalf and answer accordingly.”

  “Will you make the same judgment?”

  “I am instructed not to.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.” Priests were the masters of sophistry. She could afford no confusion.

  “I fear the responsibility he would have us accept for our destiny. Our world has no tradition of self-determination. It will take time to create the need to do so, and we will be vulnerable. The rapaciousness of the Federation is well known, and he alone will stand in their way. He believes you will aid us, but, much as I revere your courage, I do not. Yet, I would not bar your participation, nor do less than my best to persuade you. Therefore I must judge each occasion and respect his wishes where I can.”

  It was a long speech. An honest one as well. She was on trial here. “I think we should walk and I will ask only questions that will not cause you concern.”

  He nodded and fell in beside Rachael as she continued toward the market.

  Now that her field days had ended, she’d thought herself suited to the role of diplomat, but it seemed she was mistaken. Too many loyalties vied for recognition, swaying her, this way and that. Jack’s efforts were admirable, the priest’s doubts understandable, the Federation’s role questionable. She could rattle off all the claimed advantages of joining the Federation and remain unconvinced it was best for these people. The real world was too complex for simple answers.

  Yet, her feet carried her inexorably toward a meeting where she would declare herself the servant of the Federation and bind herself to its loyalties.

  They stopped at a stall displaying carved wooden figures. She saw a dozen images of her, even one in Federation uniform. They made her beautiful, strong, and vibrant. She found it very flattering. At the back of the stall sat several examples of her face, carved in half profile on half of a flat board shaped like a trapezium with curious notches on the sides. She leaned closer, about to ask a question, when a growing murmur in the crowd behind turned her.

  “He comes,” someone called and a path opened to allow him through.

  A fitted shirt in white silk, a midnight blue taffeta kilt and vest, knee-high white socks and brightly polished soft black shoes, an outfit that could have looked effeminate on a lesser man. On Jack, it made him a king. Rachael unconsciously drew breath and straightened. Even in heels, her eyes were only just level with his.

  “Greetings, Rachael. I bid you welcome and name you Feodar Friend.” He made it formal, his words carrying to trigger a wave of murmured approval.

  “Greetings, Mister President. I would present my credentials.”

  “You are welcome in whatever guise you choose, but I will accept them gladly and name you a personal friend as well.”

  Rachael covered the distance between them and took her credentials from her shoulder bag. “Here are my credentials as ambassador appointed by the Federation to Feodar’s World.”

  “They are accepted.” He took the papers, gave them a courtesy glance, and passed them to a functionary who’d appeared at his shoulder. “Take my hand. I’ve begged a table outside the inn. We can sit and take refreshment.” He extended his right hand and Rachael rested her fingers in his palm.

  His fingers closed around them gently and he turned to lead the way, her hand held just below shoulder height in an overt display of friendship.

  The crowd fell back. Turning away now the show had ended, granting them privacy in a show of genuine affection.

  “You’re looking well.” He seated her at an open-air table separated from the rest and shaded by a white canvas umbrella. They sat alone in the midst of a crowd.

  “Thank you. I could say the same.” The wooden swivel chair was a masterpiece of cr
aftsmanship, polished until it gleamed, while the table was its match. Her fingers tested the satin of its surface without conscious volition.

  “They built these for my use,” he said. “I find the inn convenient. It allows everyone access without protocol.”

  Rachael turned to consider the building. It was new, built against the inner side of the wall sometime in the last twelve months with stones taken from the demolished section. Two stories with a roof garden at this end, its forecourt was crowded with relaxed laughing groups.

  “It must get noisy at night.”

  He smiled. “I stay up late.”

  She had to admire the simplicity of his arrangements. There could be twenty clandestine agents in the crowd and no one would be the wiser. He’d made monitoring his contacts impossible by the simple expedient of swamping any attempt at surveillance. She could see a dozen Federation personnel from where she sat, all part of larger indigenous groups. Any of them could be passing information to their contacts.

  They watched the innkeeper approach and Jack spoke softly, his words private. “Watch out for the cider. They bring it in by schooner and it’s got a kick like a mule. They serve a house white that’s close to a late harvest Riesling.”

  “It sounds perfect to me.” She matched his tone.

  The innkeeper took their order and returned with two tall chilled glasses and an insulated carafe. “I put in refrigeration when I built the place,” he explained, as he filled her glass with white wine. “Solar powered. The cold drinks bring the customers.”

  Rachael sipped her wine. Jack’s description was accurate. “Perfect,” she said. The innkeeper beamed as he poured a second glass for Jack.

  “There’s plenty more where it came from. Enjoy.” He backed up a couple of steps and then turned away.

  Rachael watched him thread his way through the crowd, buying time before she turned back to Jack. The adroitness of his switches from formality to informality intensified her nervousness. It felt like trying to capture quicksilver with her fingers.