Rachael

Jack stood in the sunlight, walking the gold token across the backs of his fingers in an unconscious display of manual dexterity. There were a dozen similar tokens in the ship, all giving him access to one particular attendant, a Federation agent in deep cover with no reason to love the Alliance. Out of the habit of rushing blindly into the lion’s den, he felt a strange reluctance to take the next step. He’d done his sixty operations. Calling him back for this one wasn’t fair. Yet, Peter wasn’t in the habit of making mistakes, and his instructions had been unequivocal.

“Hah!” Only someone who knew him well would have recognized the sound as laughter. His grandfather gave him no choice, so hesitation was pointless. He flipped the token high in the air, caught it, and started forward. The time for doubts was past. After a final check to assure his mind shields were in place, he was at the Temple entrance.

“What do you want, spacer?” The gatekeeper’s question sounded surly.

Jack showed him the golden token. “I won this in a game of chance. What does it get me?” He kept his surface thoughts simple. One never knew who was listening.

“A session with a temple maiden.” He saw envy in the man’s eyes.

“Any one?” Jack played his part. “Do I get to choose?”

“No. Each maiden has her own tokens.” The man examined the ornate disc. “That’s one of Lorelei’s. She’s of the inner circle. You’ve done well.”

Jack closed his mind to the memory of the Lorelei luring men to their death on the Rhine and nodded. “What happens next?”

“You eat and bathe while she prepares herself. One of the inner circle priests will come when she’s ready.”

He nodded again, disciplining his mind into his cover personality. The Pontiff could be scanning.

The gatekeeper signaled a small boy lounging on a stone bench and gave him the token. “Take this guest to the preparation chamber and the token to the Registrar.”

The child took the token and spun it high in the air, a glittering orb in the sunlight, and Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck stir. He shuffled his feet in the pretence of wiping his boot soles clean, an excuse to look away from the display, for the spinning token was a fine focal point for hypnosis.

“Come, sir. Follow me.” The boy’s voice had broken early. They must mature early on this planet.

He led the way through a zigzag corridor designed to hide the secrets of the temple compound from the outside world, and Jack followed, holding his thoughts to simple curiosity. They were safe. He must be the spacer he appeared at every level.

The crash of the portal slamming behind him should have been a shock, but he’d sensed the tripping of the latch and it gave him time to react normally. They were keeping it simple. These were probably routine tests and no more.

“A bit dramatic,” he said to the boy. “I haven’t got what I came for yet.” They would expect a touch of bravado.

“Don’t usually do that,” the child lied.

“Long as they get it open by the morning.” Jack allowed a touch of nervousness to color his tone.

“They’re just testing. They do it all the time.” Jack could sense the boy’s amusement at the hidden truth. This was no simple pawn.

“You being smart, son?” The suspicion was within character, the next stage after bravado. “A clip under the ear still cures jackass kids.” Jack stepped closer, as if intending to carry out his threat.

It achieved its purpose. The priest stepped out of his hidden niche. “Run along, child. I will conduct our guest to the chamber.”

“Yes, Father.” The child’s voice had reverted to its normal pitch.

“What’s going on?” Jack made it a challenge.

“The token you won was stolen.”

“Not by me.” It was the truth and therefore safe.

“So it would seem.” The man in the robes was not the danger. Like Jack, he was playing a role, following instructions. “We will honor it. Please follow me.” He turned and Jack followed him into the sunlight of the inner compound.

* * * *

The Pontiff relaxed. The spacer was just what he seemed; a little smarter than most, but no threat, just a local boy made good as a spacer and small-time smuggler. The Federation agent’s usefulness continued. She was the honey pot drawing every dissident into his web and still useful for small tasks—reasons to let her live a little longer.

“Holy Father,” said one of his sons, another of his countless failures, “we still have the problem on Trygon. He’s causing trouble again.”

“Send a schooner to invite him to the capital. It’s time we put an end to him.”

“What if he doesn’t accept?”

The Pontiff sighed. “I was being sarcastic. Have them bring him by whatever means necessary.” Making his sons into cardinals was as futile as trying to create silk purses from sow’s ears. There wasn’t one of them with anything of value between his ears. He’d give anything for one of them to be as cunning as the Federation agent in the temple. She amused him. A smile broke out on the Pontiff’s face as he sensed what she was doing in her chamber.

“Ask Lorelei to attend me before she meets her guest.”

The change of subject confused his son, and he stared blankly, his lower lip sagging a little.

“Ask Lorelei to attend me, now.” The Pontiff simplified his request.

“Of course, Holy Father. Of course.” The red-robed figure backed away and fled.

* * * *

Rachael received the summons in the midst of her final transformation to Lorelei, the black wig of a temple maiden in her hands. “I’ll finish dressing.” Her tone brooked no argument. She needed every advantage in dealing with the Pontiff.

“But...” The Cardinal had delivered the summons in person.

“I’ll finish dressing,” Rachael repeated. “It will do proper honor to the Holy Father.” She took pride in the calmness of her tone. Inside, her mind screamed its terror.

She allowed herself five minutes and forced herself to walk sedately toward the Pontiff’s palace, ignoring the twittering Cardinal and pausing twice to admire the floral displays in the garden.

“Your Holiness.” She bowed low. “I came as soon as I could.”

“I know, my child. Your appearance does me proper honor.”

She knew he mocked her and had to still a shudder at the efficiency of his surveillance. He must have listening devices planted everywhere, all fueling the myth he could read minds. “As it should,” she said. “We are but the reflections of your greatness.”

His smile had a whisper of mischief. “I have a task befitting your talents. Come closer, child. The walls are reputed to have ears.”

Rachael stilled another shudder. These tasks were a reminder he knew her secret and her life hung on his whim. “Yes, Holy Father.”

The Pontiff smiled fondly. “Your little venture should go ahead. It will serve my purpose, but I want you to add a small refinement.” He beckoned her forward until his mouth was inches from her ear and revealed how much he knew and what he wanted done. “The spacer will serve a greater purpose,” he ended. “Can it be done?”

She nodded.

“Good, my child. Don’t keep him waiting any longer.”

Rachael bowed low and backed away.

* * * *

They came for him as he finished his second drink, a robed priest and two guards carrying ancient pikes. “Lorelei awaits your pleasure,” the priest said, bowing low.

Jack allowed himself a smile, coloring it with a touch of lust. “I hope she’s as beautiful as her namesake, but a little less fatal.” The priest’s blank look rewarded the attempt at gallows humor, and Jack shrugged. The drinks were stronger than he realized, making him careless, but spacers often quoted off-world customs inappropriately and his mistaken erudition should go unnoticed. He must be more careful.

“Please follow.” The priest turned and led the way, the two pike men waiting for Jack to follow and falling in behind him as they walked out into the sunlight.

The Inner Circle was a physical fact, a ring of smaller buildings surrounding the papal palace, and their destination was halfway around the ring—a long way from the entrance. He stored the fact for later study. It could mean she was under suspicion, or it could mean nothing.

She waited in the shaded doorway, the revealing temple robes still swaying a little as if she had just arrived. “Greetings, guest,” she said, her voice full of unspoken promises.

“Greetings, Lorelei,” he replied, bowing low. “Thank you for granting me your company.” It was the agreed recognition phrase, close enough to normal to go unremarked.

“The pleasure is mine.” She dipped in a small curtsey, the robes billowing to give him a glimpse of rouged nipples. Her skin color suggested she was a redhead beneath the wig, a light dusting of freckles not quite concealed by her cosmetics. “You have come a long way.” She completed the recognition sequence.

“I would have come further, had I known the reward.” He added his own comment. This was a very beautiful woman. She rewarded him with a deeper curtsey and a roguish smile with only a touch of artifice.

“Then enter and enjoy it.” She turned and led the way.

The priest and the guards fell back and he followed her, admiring the sway of the long skirts as she walked.

“A drink?” She’d reached the inner room and was standing at a laden buffet, looking back over her shoulder in a deliberately provocative pose.

“Later.” He held up his hand for silence, every sense alert, and took off his pilot’s insignia, triggering a hidden switch. The diamond crest flickered and then dulled. There were no listening devices active. That left only the Pontiff, and he was occupied elsewhere, something to do with his sons. “Go ahead. You requested a pilot.”

Her mouth tightened at his brusqueness, but she got down to business. “I have a delivery for you to make on your next run.”

“Details?”

She told him, specifying weights, volumes, coordinates, and recognition signals. Jack nodded, committing them to memory as she went.

“Do you understand what we want?”

Jack laughed. “Just the usual miracles.” He was deliberately flippant

“There’s far too many of those already.” Rachael removed the black wig and shook free her hair. “The Pontiff’s people believe this rubbish. I don’t.”

“They’re not all illusions.” He knew Rachael was a dedicated skeptic, questioning everything. She had to be to survive undercover.

“They’re very clever.” It was a concession rather than an admission. He smiled, deciding he liked her.

“What’s special about this cargo? Trygon has never been a customer before.” She’d expect him to be suspicious. He was supposed to be a small time smuggler, working freelance.

“They’re specials. It’s a new area for us, and we want to know more about it.”

“So everything in the cargo has an implant to transmit data to your satellite. How long before they’re detected?” He wouldn’t want the job of explaining to his customers if he was the local boy they supposed.

“Probably never. These people are technologically backward.”

“The Pontiff’s people aren’t.”

“You’re not selling to them.”

He shook his head. “Sooner or later, one will fall into their hands, he’ll have a prima facie case to take to the courts, and the Federation will lose its concession.”

“Not your problem. You’re being paid to get the stuff out there.” The undercover work was getting to her. She didn’t like opposition and Jack could sympathize with her.

There’d be no show trial if she were caught, just an extended interrogation until she welcomed death as a friend. The Papacy played for keeps. All the local despots did. The Diaspora saw to that.

Humanity had destroyed its home planet, not with a bang, but with the whimper of a world polluted beyond redemption. Belatedly realizing there was no going back, the Federation had dispatched a wave of scout ships to find new homes for Earth’s teeming multitudes, and populated vast colony ships with the best available stock to follow in their wake whilst Earth choked itself into oblivion. Limited to sub-light speed through a physical universe, the voyages had taken thousands of years to reach habitable planets, with history amended to make the destruction of Earth the fault of a wandering black hole rather than rapacious humanity. Sixty millennia later, humankind had colonized every habitable planet in this sector, a credible achievement, considering the primitive technology of the first thirty millennia.

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 quietly 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.

A shudder shook the ship, and it surfaced backwards in a rush, the nose rising to the surface in time to bury itself again in the forward wall of the oncoming swell. It was less frightening this time because he was only a few feet below the surface had confidence in the canopy, but the starlight was still welcome when it appeared once more. The safety devices had worked. All openings were sealed and he saw no flooding.

Safe for the moment, but still trapped.

Jack switched off the alarm and shut down the power, killing everything before any other nasties materialized. He needed time to think.

Logic put Rachael in the frame. His instincts had been right, but he hadn’t listened. Was she working for the Federation or the Pontiff? It made a big difference. Could it be for both? Her stress levels made sense if she was a double. Either way, a distress signal to the Treaty Port was out, and he couldn’t send anything through the portal from this position on the globe. He was on his own.

The Pontiff was the first danger. If Rachael were working for him, his people would be on their way. Capturing an Alliance member would give them leverage in the courts and delay integration for centuries. Even if she were working for the Federation, the first step would be the same—deliver him into the Pontiff’s hands and then use the leverage against the Alliance.

He must avoid capture, of both himself and the ship.

The first was easy. The ocean was deep here, and the ship was intact. Flooded, she would carry everything to the bottom, beyond the Pontiff’s reach. Avoiding capture was not so easy.

His family had a history with this planet. His grandmother’s people had lived here once, and his mother had met his father here, but that was thousands of years ago. Millennia of theocratic rule had changed things. He could pass as one of the Elite at a pinch, for there were a scattering of individuals descended from the Elite left behind after the displacement of his grandmother’s people. His briefing had emphasized their presence.

Had the family known what he was getting into?

Jack shook his head. It didn’t matter now.

The Elite were leaders and the Pontiff probably knew each of them by name, so he’d have to avoid everyone, although he might pass without comment at a distance. A boat was his best option. He could sail it to the Treaty Port, slip through the barriers and send a message through the portal. At worst, he could declare himself to the Federation and risk them handing him over to the Pontiff. Even if this were a Federation plot, he didn’t think they’d go that far—too many chances of being exposed.

It wasn’t a good plan. Too many gaps and the chances of success were minimal, but it was all he had. If he made it, he’d give the bitch the spanking he’d promised. The thought might keep him going when things grew tough.

The first hurdle was reaching the shore.

The inflatable was out. Everything off-planet had to go down with the ship. He had local clothing. It would survive the water, but the loosely woven cloth wouldn’t provide flotation. There had to be something else.

A flash of light at the edge of his vision...was it the signal from his contact?

The sequence was right, but what was the boat doing this far from the shore? The planned exchange was a sheltered bay. If it were the Pontiff’s men, his time was running out. He switched to emergency control, opened the flooding valves, and the ship began to settle in the water, her profile shrinking as she sank until only the cockpit canopy remained above the surface. He closed the valves at that point and waited. If they’d seen him fall from the sky, they’d come closer.

The night vision goggles gave him brief glimpses of the horizon when the swell lifted the ship, but there was nothing beyond the flash of light, so it had to be a small boat. The Pontiff’s men would have used a mission schooner. He could afford to wait a little longer.

A change of clothes filled some of the time and a final check of the tiny living quarters took up the rest. He’d be lifting the cockpit canopy to escape, and he didn’t want anything floating free as the ship sank. By the time, he returned to the cockpit, the fishing boat was visible and he could see the helmsman was one of the Elite.

Then the man in the boat spotted the canopy and waved.

Unable to do anything else, Jack acknowledged the greeting with a wave and waited.

“Sink your ship and join me in the boat. I can’t be away too long.”

This was no Elite.

“Yes,” the man thought impatiently. “Hurry.”

Jack didn’t wait. He opened the flooding valves, discarded his night vision gear, clipped it securely in its holder, and opened the canopy as a passing wave exposed it.

The next wave nearly beat him, catching him half out of the cockpit, but he managed to kick clear as the ship disappeared beneath him. The turbulence took him down twenty feet before he fought clear and popped to the surface.

“Here.” The helmsman thrust the loom of an oar into his grasp, eschewing the dangerous mindspeak.

Jack took advantage of his help to roll into the boat. “Raise the sail,” his rescuer instructed. “We need to get out of here before first light.” There was no further conversation until the boat settled into a broad reach with Jack at the tiller.

“Drop me off behind that point.” The helmsman indicated a jutting promontory. “There’s a sheltered cove on the other side. I’ll have time to reach my cave before anyone misses me.”

Jack nodded but said nothing, waiting for an explanation.

“You’ll have to make your own way to the Treaty Port. I’ve given you as much in the way of supplies as I could steal, and they might not miss the boat for a few days. I frayed the mooring rope, and the wind was offshore. They’ll look for it first and may assume it sank. There’s a rough chart of where we are with the trading routes marked. Destroy it as soon as you can. It could be linked back to me.” His companion looked weary.

“Are you the reason I’m here?”

“They said they were sending someone good.” A crooked grin accompanied the words, as if he didn’t expect belief. “If you can make it back to the Treaty Port, your job’s done.”

Jack smiled. The need to know of operations meant he’d get no other explanation, but he couldn’t resist trying. “The girl?”

“A Federation double, no more. This is the Pontiff’s doing.” His companion smiled. “You sound interested.”

“I promised her a spanking. She seems to have earned it.”

“That has the ring of truth. Remember it if there’s a need.”

Jack nodded, and the conversation lapsed. It was better that way. The less he remembered, the easier it was to conceal if they caught him.

The cove was ideal. Jack came around the point into the lee of the cliffs, and there was a sandy beach leading into a cave. His companion pointed, and Jack luffed the boat to a standstill.

“Two last things. They must not get wind of anything beyond your longevity and there is a radio station here. The Pontiff will know what’s happened by morning.” He waited until Jack nodded his understanding. “Good luck,” he said, and slipped over the side to swim strongly for the beach.

Jack watched him go. At least he hadn’t blamed anyone else, taking the full responsibility for telling Jack to sacrifice his life rather than betray the family’s presence. It deserved respect. A wave from the beach and Jack backed the sail and pushed the tiller away from him. The boat’s head fell away until it pointed at the sea and Jack hauled in the sheets to catch the wind.

His job was simple. Peter had established a deep cover agent on Trygon, one of the Hive Masters who’d created a physical body, a functioning telepath hiding himself from the Pontiff’s mind. Suspicion must have fallen on him, and Peter considered his role so important, he’d arranged a diversion to give him time to escape. Jack must evade capture and focus the Pontiff’s efforts elsewhere. If captured, he must not reveal his connection to the Alliance or his telepathic abilities.

He didn’t know him, so he’d been undercover a long time, at least a century and a half, and he must not speculate on his role lest the echo of his thoughts remain in his mind, yet he already liked him. It would have been so easy to blame Peter for the need to sacrifice someone.

Good luck to him. He’d need it to escape the Pontiff.