The Agent Gambit

by Sharon Lee

  "What in hell were you doing?" he snapped, terror rising even above anger.

  What had she been doing? She struggled, squirming further into her body-and memory returned with a burst of half-hysterical laughter.

  "Priscilla . . ." He was out of the chair, gripping her arms, shaking her where she lay on the bed. "Priscilla!"

  "I was-Mother love her!-I had to pick up a package!" She grappled with the laughter, hiccuped into sense and stared up into his eyes. "I have a message from your brother."

  Face and pattern went very still. "Indeed."

  "Actually," she amended, slipping from between his hands and sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, "I have a package from your brother's lifemate. I assume it holds a message."

  "But not from Val Con himself."

  Impossible to read all the nuance there. She shook her head. "Val Con has-many protections. I tried twice-awake and asleep-and couldn't reach him. I-" She met his eyes squarely. "Some time ago, I went soul-walking and left a message with the lifemate: an image of you, an image of me, and the message, 'We are looking for you. Help us,' loaded with familiarity, family-caring." She paused, then added softly, "Lina kept watch over my body."

  "Did she? What a gift it is to have friends."

  She winced. "Shan-"

  He waved a big hand and sat suddenly beside her on the bed. "Never mind. You'll have told Lina necessity existed, which it certainly does. For Korval." He looked at her, and the anger was gone completely, the terror fading fast. "Your melant'i is very difficult, Priscilla. Forgive me."

  "Lifemates," she said, hearing the Seer-cadence echoing in the words, "are heart-known. He is my brother, too."

  "A theory Nova would be just as happy not to entertain. But we are drifting from the subject of your package." He sighed, and she felt him working, shifting internal balances; wondering, she saw him sculpt intuitive understanding and shadowy theory into a clearly recognizable seed-thought.

  Healers are not taught such things, she thought. She wondered, not for the first time, if years of close association had sharpened and altered both of their talents.

  "Perhaps I can understand how you might leave a message with my brother's lady," Shan was saying, turning his construct over in his mind. "But I cannot for my heart see how she could have left you a package!"

  Priscilla grinned. "You've had training, love; and she hasn't had any. She doesn't know it's impossible to leave packages in your mind for pickup." Laughter escaped again. "And she seems to have left it, and I seem to have brought it away-so I suppose it's not impossible, after all!"

  "Brought it away . . ." He glanced around the room, eyebrows up. "You tell me you have this package with you."

  "Oh, yes." She touched it within herself, reading the lading slip and seeing the angular slant of her own signature.

  "Might I see it, Priscilla? Understand that I would never doubt you-"

  "Of course." She laid her hand over his, then heard his sharp intake of breath as his inner eyes perceived it.

  "Priscilla?"

  "Yes?"

  "It's dusty."

  "It's been sitting on a landing for weeks, awaiting pickup; and she does tend to be extremely concrete in her thinking," Priscilla said with delight. "Entirely unschooled, but very strong-willed."

  "Val Con's lifemate could hardly be anything but strong-willed, if she was to survive the mating," he murmured. "The tag says this is for you alone."

  "We can open it together, if you like." She sensed his passionate agreement, opened the packet, and nearly laughed again.

  Carefully, striving to recall exactly how physical hands would manage it, she unfolded the single sheet of yellow paper; she caught a wordless rush of something from Shan as the two flat-pix clipped to the top were uncovered.

  The first showed a man, dark hair indifferently cut, the line of a scar slanting shockingly across one lean, golden cheek, green eyes lit with joy, wide mouth curved in pleasure. The entire image glowed bright, as if with some inner brilliance, and Priscilla felt her throat tighten with that reflected love.

  The second picture was less sharp, less bright: merely a redhaired woman, freckles sprinkled across a small nose; gray eyes direct in a willful, intelligent face.

  Priscilla heard Shan sigh, but was too enmeshed in her own perceptions to read the echo of his.

  Deliberately she turned her attention to the body of the letter, finding again the round, painstakingly clear hand, apparently written in bright purple ink.

  We're okay. Clan Korval in danger. Don't talk to Interior Department. Go to Edger if things get bad. Ship coil-blown-world restricted. Tell Shan: Access Grid seven-aught-three Repeat: Access Grid 703 Love to all.

  Priscilla opened her eyes and saw Shan staring at her.

  "Well," he said, and she was not fooled by the light note in his voice, "we seem to have done everything wrong! Not only has my sister had at least one delightful conversation with the Department of the Interior, but Edger has come to us! And there's no mention of the Juntavas, did you notice, Priscilla? As if that were no trouble at all."

  He slipped his hand away from hers and rubbed the tip of his nose. "They're okay, she says-and Val Con looks worn to the bone. Got that scar in a brawl, I daresay-or a crash . . ." He sighed. "Access Grid 703, is it? Well, let us see."

  But ship's comp, queried, took far too long to respond to the code, and when it did, the information was not satisfactory:

  ADDRESS ON LIAD PRIME.

  Shan sighed again and shook his head, and Priscilla felt his bone-deep worry as if it were her own. "It looks like we send it to Nova, my love," he said. "And await events. Gods, how I hate to await events!" He took her hand and smiled at her, wanly but with good intent.

  "She looks quite sensible, doesn't she?"

  Miri woke in the lightening gray of dawn, shifted up on one elbow, and lightly touched his scar.

  He opened his eyes, mouth curving lazily into a smile. "Cha'trez . . ."

  "Hi." She stroked the hair back from his face, then bent and kissed his forehead. "Letter's gone, boss."

  "Ah." He reached up and pulled her back down beside him. "That is good, then."

  LIAD:

  Trealla Fantrol

  "Ready, Miss," Jeeves said from just behind her shoulder. But still she sat, her fingers poised above the keyboard, chewing her lip in most unNova-like hesitation.

  It was not, she told herself firmly, the way they had gotten the message. After all, Korval had produced its share of dramliz over the generations, including her own sister, Anthora. It was rather, Nova thought suddenly, that she feared Access Grid 703 itself. Which was of course nonsense and not, in any case, to be allowed to come before duty and the best survival of the Clan.

  Deliberately she opened a channel and fed in the address. "Instantaneous download, Jeeves," she murmured, though he had already reported ready. And she read:

  OBJECTIVES AND GUIDANCE

  THE AGENT WILL RECALL FROM TRAINING THAT ALLEGIANCE TO A SINGLE CLAN IS ADDICTION TO AN OUTDATED AND LIFE-THREATENING PHILOSOPHY. FOR CENTURIES HAVE THE CLANS, EACH PURSUING THEIR OWN NECESSITY, STIFLED LIAD, ENTRAPPING INTELLIGENT PERSONS IN A FALLACIOUS EMOTIONAL WEBWORK AND SO DENYING THE CHILDREN OF LIAD THEIR RIGHTFUL PLACE AMONG THE STARS.

  THE FRUIT OF THIS NONSURVIVALIST WAY OF LIFE IS NOW CLEAR: TERRA SEEKS TO OVERPOWER AND ANNIHILATE US. WORKING FOR THEIR OWN PETTY INTERESTS, SEVERAL CLANS HAVE ALLOWED LIADEN BLOOD TO BECOME DILUTED AND HAVE GRANTED THESE HALF-BREEDS FULL RIGHTS. IT IS WELL-KNOWN THAT TERRA PROMOTES THOSE MATCHES, WHILE IT SEEKS TO BEST LIAD ON ALL OTHER FRONTS, AS WELL. IN VIEW OF THIS THREAT, IT IS THE PART OF THE INTELLIGENT PERSON TO FORSWEAR ALLEGIANCE TO CLAN AND, INSTEAD, TO ALLY HIMSELF WITH LIAD, THROUGH THIS DEPARTMENT.

  IT IS THE PRIME OBJECTIVE OF THIS DEPARTMENT TO ESTABLISH THE SUPREMACY OF LIAD AND TRUE LIADENS. TO ACCOMPLISH THIS-

  The image on the screen shivered, broke apart, and went blank.

  "What!" Nova cried around the pain in her
heart. She reached for the keys, noting the channel still wide open.

  REPORT FOR DEBRIEFING.

  "Yes, certainly," she muttered, and ran quick fingers over the board: RETURN FILE.

  REPORT FOR DEBRIEFING, her correspondent insisted, and added an explanation: COMMANDER'S ORDERS.

  RETURN FILE, Nova reiterated. "Jeeves! Disengage."

  "Disengaged, Miss."

  FILE WILL BE RETURNED AFTER DEBRIEFING. YOU WILL REPORT IMMEDIATELY. ACKNOWLEDGE.

  MESSAGE ACKNOWLEDGED, Nova typed rapidly. REGRET CANNOT REPORT. APOLOGIES TO COMMANDER. FILE NOT REQUIRED THAT URGENTLY.

  * * *

  There was hesitation then, as if her correspondent perhaps knew Val Con well enough to recognize the authenticity of that reply. Nova glanced down, saw the open-channel light still glowing, and folded her hands in her lap.

  REMAIN AT CURRENT LOCATION, the message came then. ESCORT WILL BE PROVIDED.

  The channel light went dark.

  NEV'LORN HEADQUARTES

  "Come now, Shadia," she muttered to herself in Vimdiac. "What can be hunting you in Auxiliary Headquarters?" The hairs at her nape refused to settle properly down, and she added jocularly, "Besides Clonak ter'Meulen, I mean."

  No good. The part of her concerned with keeping her alive in conditions where she might well be hunted kept her hackles up, and against all sense she found herself scanning the dock as she crossed the strip and turned toward the duty desk.

  Half a dozen steps was all it took to convince her. Too many techs in sight, or too few; eyes turned toward her that had no need to note her passage. Her mouth tasted of adrenaline, and she began to scan the strip in earnest, looking for a face that she recognized. Looking for a friend.

  She saw him coming toward her, his lined face bemused and slightly simian, his light brown eyes bland; beneath his snub of a nose he wore a most unLiaden mustache.

  She almost shouted to him, but the unease and the training stilled the urge. Whatever was wrong, it was to be survived. Survival hinged on ignoring them, on allowing them to think she thought nothing amiss-whoever, she added to herself wryly, they were.

  She increased her pace then, as the plan took shape, and nearly ran the last little distance between them, hurtling straight into his arms. Raising her hands to his startled face, she sang out in the mode used between those most intimate, "Clonak, I am all joy to see you!"

  Surprise flickered in the taffy eyes, then his arms tightened convincingly about her and he bent his head for her kiss. "Well, now, Night's Delight; and of course I am all joy to see you!"

  He had caught the look in her eyes and knew that she had understood already that something was amiss. Quick, oh, very quick, Shadia! He released her on the thought, the warmth of the embrace fading instantly as his eyes caught the pattern he had been hoping against.

  "And now, my dear, I'm afraid we must return momentarily to your ship." He placed a light hand on her back and felt the resistance melt immediately. Bright girl!

  "And what a trip you've had, eh, Shadia? A chance to sleep, to pine away for-"

  He chattered on, fitting in, "There, three on the left, two on the right," as if it were a part of the chatter. The pattern had coalesced into purpose: They were moving to cut Shadia and himself off from the ship!

  "How bad?" she mumbled, looking brightly at him and matching his rapid walk.

  "I need a liftoff, oh, fifteen seconds after we hit the ladder."

  "We'll kill someone!"

  "Give a five-second warning. If you prefer, I'll lift it!"

  "'S'mine."

  "Right," he said as they touched the edge of the hotpad.

  The sound of rapid steps was heard, too close-breaking into a run as Shadia's hands touched the hatch.

  Chonak caught the belt she flung at him, grabbed the first pistol that came to hand, and fired a flare into the hotpad.

  Alarms screamed; he slammed the seal even as the ship's emergency blast warning gonged across the lift zone. His last sight of the base was of several people standing straight up, frozen, while others more knowledgeable ran and dove for cover.

  "Now!"

  He grabbed the seat as the blast warning ceased and nearly fell across it as lift began.

  "Lose me that way," he muttered under his breath as he groped his way into the copilot's chair.

  "Nine seconds," Shadia snapped.

  "Oh. Good. Let's listen to the comm, eh?"

  The comm was a nearly unintelligible mix of yelling, pleading, and demanding. Emergency channels crackled; within seconds there were reports of five injured, several seriously.

  "Ne'Zame, report in! Do not orbit; repeat, do not orbit. Cut and return to base immediately!"

  The ship was accelerating rapidly. Clonak felt crushed by the weight, but managed to get his hand to his lips in the age-old sign for silence.

  Ground Control demanded action, and suddenly Orbital Control was getting into the act, too.

  "What is it?" Shadia demanded finally, keeping the ship on manual.

  "Department of the Interior. No way to warn you . . ." His breath came in gasps. It had been years, perhaps decades, since he had flown like this.

  "Should I back off?" she asked, concern evident.

  "Fly it!"

  She flew it well. He watched her hands and eyes: She would do. She had the reactions.

  "Prepare to Jump," he gasped.

  "We're in atmosphere!"

  "Just be ready. Anywhere. As soon as we're free-"

  No wasted motion. Good. No panic. Better.

  "Ne'Zame, orbit and standby for boarding. This is the Department of the Interior. Orbit and standby for boarding!"

  Shadia threw a glance at him. Clonak smiled.

  "Better?" she asked.

  "Rainbow," he said succinctly. "Forgive me, child-there was no way to get to you sooner. It wasn't until I saw those techs-all out of position-that I knew. Department of the Interior-been getting into our records; detaching our people-set up Nev'lorn 'quarters to hold them at bay, and damned if they didn't follow us here! They must think we don't know it-they must think we're fools, Shadia . . ."

  "Ne'Zame!" the comm snapped. "Orbit and open, or we'll board by force! Who authorized this unfiled flight-"

  Clonak reached out and tapped the button.

  "This is Clonak ter'Meulen," he said calmly. "I have authorized this unfiled flight. Administrative Override is in force."

  "We do not recognize your authority, ter'Meulen. Ne'Zame has been detached to this Department! Orbit and open!"

  Ship screens were full of ordinary traffic and, as the ship rose, they began to track the trajectories of the orbiting ships, the crawl of the suborbital transports, the- There was no sound. The lights were bright yellow.

  Clonak glanced at Shadia, smiling.

  She grimaced. "Intercept alert. My screen three."

  "I had no doubt. Three ships on screen three. One of the warship class. What would have happened if you'd have been asleep?"

  "I know, I know. I'm supposed to have that on audio, too, but it just gets so useless in the meteor . . ."

  "Not to worry, my lovely. We need a Jump-ready status."

  "Ready as I can be. We've still got too much pressure-"

  "Right. Where's the moon? Ah. Let me give you the orbit."

  Shadia stared at him. "Without the comp?"

  "Of course without the comp! They're reading every bit they can! They may be able to pick up our control codes."

  Clonak forgot about the residual ache in his chest, forgot about the meaning of the three dots bearing down on their tiny scout craft, forgot about the people-the enemies?-dead or dying at the dock. Reading from the screen, he computed the orbit they were to achieve and began to dictate it, watching the course board with half an eye.

  "Pressure's down." Shadia said, all business. "Can they make that reassignment stick? Will you get in trouble?"

  He called out six more numbers before answering. "I'm already in trouble-and so
are you. Department of the Interior's been sharking about for information on you ever since you made contact with the ship out on Vandar. Collected the beam report, I suppose. Your bad luck, Shadia."

  "What comes of following the book. Damn!"

  The ship shuddered; Shadia hit buttons and read numbers off to herself. "Laser carrying a charge beam. Close. What do we do?"

  "Start to roll-just like you're going to orbit. When I say now, we Jump. Instantly."

  "Clonak, that could kill us this close in!"

  "They'll kill us, my dear. They will. Jump when I say."

  She cleared a screen and watched the gravity wells of the moon and Nev'lorn and the minor blips of the other ships. "You got it."

  The ship shuddered again; she switched to a backup board without hesitation. "Charged all hell out of my circuits!"

  Alarms, both sound and light, came to life.

  "They've fired. Rockets," she said quietly.

  "Right."

  Her hands went to buttons microseconds after the automatics had done the job: all shields up.

  "What's going to happen to Nev'lorn?" she asked suddenly.

  "It'll be empty within minutes, I suspect. Project Orange will go into effect, and with any luck at all the Department of the Interior will get a nasty-"

  Flash!

  Blinding light exploded inside the ship, sparks bouncing across the walls.

  "Kill my ship, you clanless-" She stopped with her finger on the switch. "Liadens. Clonak, what should I do? They're Liadens! How can I return fire, even with this popgun?"

  "Administrative Override, my dear. I order you-as Chief of Pilot Security-to react as occasion demands. You have one half-minute before we Jump."

  Her hands flew over the board; the ship tumbled with the program, its self-defense rockets spewing suddenly, hopelessly, across space, toward the destroyer bearing rapidly down on it.