by David Weber
Since then it had been turned into just another Peep slave planet. Albeit with very pretty blond and red-headed hookers.
The People's Republic of Haven was, technically, the most egalitarian society in all the galaxy. Or at least that was what their Ministry of Information would have the rest of the galaxy believe. In reality, the social stratification, especially on subject planets such as Prague, was horrible. There were a few Peep senior officials who lived like Roman emperors, their StateSec and Navy officers who enforced the peace and lived like barons and knights, and the common people. The last group survived however they could and many of the females survived in the oldest profession in history. Any of the remarkably good-looking girls in the room could be had for less than an hour's pay of the State Security captains he and Gonzalvez were dressed as.
Charles watched the dancer step down off the stage and into the arms of a StateSec major and sighed. "Story of my life, really." Then he gasped at the sight of the next girl up.
Her hair was red and long enough that the braid was woven into her minimal clothing, a half bra and a thong that left very little to the imagination. Her breasts were high and almost unnaturally firm, but the clothing was brief enough to determine that there were no scars; indicating that the lift was natural. Her shape was an almost perfect hourglass topped by a heart-stoppingly beautiful face.
"A girl like that should be in videos," Charles said, nudging his partner. "Not dancing in a cheap strip-joint."
When there wasn't a response he looked over at Johnny, who was frozen to the chair, his mouth open.
"She's good looking, my friend, but not that good looking," Charles said.
"Ugah . . ." was the only response he got.
"Are you all right, Johnny?"
"Oh, God," Mullins finally gasped. "I'm dead."
"What's wrong?"
"Never mind," Mullins said, starting to stand up. "Maybe she hasn't . . ." but before he could leave his chair the girl had danced her way across the raised stage and now was dancing directly in front of him.
To top off her looks, she was an extraordinary dancer.
"I think I need a cold shower," Charles said as she entered a series of complicated sinuosities. "Several cold showers."
"Hi, Rachel," Johnny said in New French.
"Hi, Johnny," Rachel replied. "Long time." She bent over backwards until she was a curve balanced on her toes and fingertips then swayed back and forth. "Remember this one?"
* * *
"So you used to date her?" Charles asked when the dancer had left the stage.
"It's a long story," Johnny replied. "I was on a mission in Nouveau Paris–" He stopped as Rachel walked up. She had thrown a light blue robe on over her bra and panties but the sheer material didn't so much cover as reveal enticingly.
"It's . . . good to see you again. Although unexpected," Mullins said huskily.
"Yes, no letters, no contact at all," she said then slapped him as hard as she could. "That is for promising to marry me and then running away like a coward."
"Marry?" Charles said getting to his feet and moving over a stool as Johnny rubbed his cheek. "What a cad; undoubtedly a ploy to get you into his bed. I, on the other hand, am a gentleman, milady. Charles Gonzalvez, at your service."
"Pleased to meet you," she said in Allemaigne, sitting down between them. "How did you get stuck with this jerk?"
"Ill-luck of the draw," Charles replied, kissing her hand. "If it permits me to worship at your feet, however, my luck has changed."
"Hah!" she replied turning back to Johnny. "I see you made captain. Apparently StateSec is dragging the bottom of the barrel."
"I got redeployed," he said lamely. "It was . . . suggested that marrying . . . well a lady with a shady background would be a negative influence on my career. Actually, it was a lot more direct than that; my commander told me that if I contacted you again he'd send us both to Hades. I didn't want to get you in trouble."
"Nice off-the-cuff excuse, there," she said. "I forgive you for leaving; it was the promise of marrying that ticked me off. I thought you were serious there for a while."
"I was," Johnny said, looking her in the eye. They were, as he remembered, a deep purple, also natural. For some reason the phrase "the wine-dark seas" came to mind. After a moment he shook himself. "I was. I . . . also promised to get you out of the Republic."
She carefully looked around, then at Charles. "I take it you didn't hear that?"
"What? My partner speaking treason?" Charles said. "Not yet. Get a grip, Johnny."
"I will," Mullins said. "I . . . It's good to see you, Rachel."
She paused for a moment then stroked his cheek. "It's good to see you, too, Johnny."
Mullins shook his head and then smiled. "I don't suppose you're free tonight?"
Even her laughter was perfect, a delighted peal like bells in a carillon. "You don't give up, do you?"
"Not where you're concerned," Mullins said.
"Well, no, I'm not free tonight," she said maliciously. "I've got a hot date."
"Oh . . ." Mullins sighed. "Okay."
"But maybe later," she continued, stroking his cheek again. "Come back tomorrow night, okay?"
"Okay," Johnny said.
"I have to go," she said, standing up and arranging her robe. "Take care."
"I will," Mullins said watching her walk away. Then: "Shit."
"Bit of a spark there, still, old boy," Charles said, patting him on the back.
"I nearly shot myself when I got back from that mission," Mullins replied carefully, taking a deep pull off of his beer.
"Well, I have to admit she is spectacular, but is that really an appropriate response?"
"I don't know," Mullins said. He upended the liter glass then raised the empty and waved it back and forth. "It was my response."
"I say," Charles replied with a shake of his head. "I have to ask, though: Is she . . . available for hire?"
"Only to the highest bidder," Johnny said with a laugh, picking up the new glass that the bartender set down. "When I was dating her she was a mistress to the second assistant minister of information."
"Bloody good conduit," Charles said with raised eyebrows.
"I wouldn't know; I never tried to recruit her," Johnny said. "And then the mission went bust and we barely got out alive. If I'd had the ability to blackmail Q back then, I'd have gone back to Nouveau Paris to find her. But I didn't; I just tried to forget. For a while, the only thing that helped was drinking myself into a stupor. And I think that's what I'm going to do tonight." He put the freshly refilled glass of heavy brown ale to his lips and sucked until it was empty. "Bartender!"
* * *
"CORDELIA RANSOM SHE HAS NO BALLS!" Mullins sang as the two of them staggered down the deserted street. As with most Peep planets, Prague City tended to roll up the sidewalks after dark.
"Why . . . extac . . . exac . . . why are we going homeward without female accom . . . without some women?"
"SAINT JUST'S ARE VERY SMALL!"
"Really, we should be accomp . . . sup . . . there ought to be women."
"ROB PIERRE . . . oh, never mind I can' think of a rh . . . rhyme for Pierre. We're returning to our domi . . . domic . . . rooms without women because wine giveth the desire and taketh away the ability."
"Okay, Shakespeare," Charles said. "If you're so smart, where's a bathroom?"
"Vo ist eine toiletten!" Johnny yelled to the empty streets.
"We're returning to our domic . . . to our rooms unaccompanied because of your girlfriend aren't we?"
"Ah, an alleyway," Johnny said. "I haff found our toiletten."
"Aren't we?" Charles asked again as they both stumbled into the darkness of the alley and leaned against the wall.
"Aaaah," Mullins said in relief. "You could have taken anyone home you wanted. I was . . . un . . . disin . . . I didn't want to."
"So it was because of your girlfriend," Charles said, clearing the tubes.
&nbs
p; "If you shake it more than twice, you're playing with it," Mullins declared.
"Halt!"
"Christ, I'm just peeing on a wall," he complained as a body rounded the corner and plowed into him.
Mullins might have been three sheets to the wind but his survival instincts were highly trained. The body, it appeared to be a male in uniform, was spun in place and slammed into the wall as he wrapped the head into a snap-grip. In another moment the struggling figure would be lying on the ground with a broken neck.
"Don't," Gonzalvez said in Allemaigne. "He's being chased by StateSec."
"Good point." Johnny shifted his forearms and applied pressure, clamping on the nerve juncture. The "sleeper" hold was almost considered a myth; it required training, precision and strength to apply it properly. But John Mullins had all three in abundance; in less than two seconds the figure slumped.
"Grab his legs," Mullins muttered, dragging the body behind a dumpster and coming back out. He resumed his position as a flashlight-toting figure rounded the corner.
"Get that damned light out of my eyes!" Mullins shouted. "Who the hell are you?"
"Sorry, Sir," the StateSec private said diffidently, lowering the light. "But I'll need to see some ID. We're after a fugitive."
"Bloody local buffoons," Charles muttered in Nouveau Paris–accented French. He waggled his member and put it away, pulling out his ID tag. "Here," he continued in Allemaigne.
The private ducked his head and scanned the badge and the "captain's" retina, returning it and doing the same with Mullins'. "Thank you, Sirs. Did you see anyone pass this way?"
"Negative. Who are you looking for and what is the local contact point?" Mullins asked as clearly as he could enunciate.
"We were told that Admiral Mládek is attempting to defect," the private gushed.
"What?" Gonzo gasped, right on cue. "The head of Fleet Communications?"
"Yes, Sir. We've closed down three Manty spy operations tonight and the captain says we're closing in on two more! General Garson is in charge; he was sent here by StateSec command in New Paris."
"Damn, I suppose this is important," Charles said. "You're doing a fine job, Private. If you have any questions for us, or need any help, we're in the New Prague Hotel, room 313."
"Yes, Sir," the private said, making a notation on his pad. "I have to go continue the search, Sirs."
"Carry on, Private," Johnny said. "You're in the best traditions of StateSec there."
"Thank you, Sir," the private said, trotting back out of the alley.
"Oh, bloody hell," Charles muttered. "I'm sober old boy, how 'bout you?"
CHAPTER 3
A HATCH IS PLANNED
No operative has just one bolt hole and whereas their digs had been in the New Prague Hotel, room 313, they had also rented a seedy flat on the bad side of town.
Prague City was bisected into north and south sections by the Aryan River. The north section was the business district with the better homes and flats on the north edge. Also on the north side was the Peep Building, pardon, the "People's Building," and the StateSec headquarters.
On the south side was the industrial region and the local police headquarters. Prague City, like all Peep cities, had no crime problem. Just ask Cordelia Ransom. Everyone was happy and industrious, focused on the important mission of destroying Manticore, the aristocratic enemy of the People.
Strangely, South Prague City never made it into any of Cordelia Ransom's tridee broadcasts. In South Prague City, carrying a body into a building was only notable in that it was being carried in.
Not that anyone in South Prague City was going to notice anything at any time.
Johnny turned away from the window as the figure in the chair stirred. "Headache?"
The admiral, which was what they had by his uniform, was a heavy-set man, probably in his sixties by his looks. He didn't have the appearance of one of the jumped up proles that made up much of the modern Peep senior officer corps. From his look he was probably a holdover from the Legislaturalists.
The officer felt the bonds restraining him to the chair, moved his lips under the tape on his mouth, looked at the two men in prole clothing and nodded.
"Three things," Charles said, standing up with a cup in one hand and a knife in the other. "Listening?"
The admiral nodded again, looking at the knife.
"First thing. We're not StateSec, we're Manty Intelligence. Second thing, you were trying to defect and nearly got nabbed by StateSec. Third thing, we're not your pickup group but we're going to try to get you out. However, if you mess about, we'll kill you just as happily. Still want me to cut you loose?"
The officer nodded then grimaced as Mullins first ripped off the tape then cut his bonds.
"I have no knowledge of what you are talking about," the admiral said, looking around the dingy room. "I am a citizen admiral of the Fleet; there will be absolutely effective repercussions if State Security thinks they can simply 'disappear' me."
"Uh, huh," Mullins said. "That wouldn't even fly with the Peeps and it doesn't get far with us."
"And, let me guess, old boy," Charles said cocking his head. " 'Absolutely effective' would be your code word to determine if we're really ONI. Sorry, chap, we're not actually part of your pickup team so we can't give you the counter-code."
"Again, I have no idea what you are talking about," the admiral said firmly. "I am a loyal citizen officer of the People's Republic."
"Ah, okay," Johnny said. "In that case, there's a StateSec private we got you away from who is probably angling for sergeant." He grabbed the admiral by the arm and yanked the larger officer to his feet. "He'd probably get an instant promotion if he caught you."
The admiral looked from one to the other as Charles cut the bonds. "I am not attempting to defect," he said desperately. "I am a loyal officer!"
"General Garson is here," Mullins said. " 'All the way from Nouveau Paris!' I'm sure he'll be happy to listen to your protests."
"If . . ." the admiral paused and gulped. "If you're Manty Intelligence, shouldn't you be trying to kidnap me? I could be carrying important information."
"Nope," Mullins explained. "You're not worth our lives if you're not willing to talk; Manticore doesn't use harsh information extraction methods. And, besides, we have another mission here. We only picked you up because it looked like an op had gone bad. If you're really a 'loyal officer of the People's Republic' we'll turn you loose, finish our mission and depart."
"We'd prefer to kill you," Charles said, putting away the knife and taking the admiral by the arm. "But it's against our basic rules of engagement. Pity. So, let's go meet that private, shall we?"
"Wait," the admiral said, holding up a hand. "Just . . . wait. Okay. Yes, I was attempting to defect."
"Good, now that we have your confession . . ." Charles said in a harsh Nouveau Paris accent.
"Oh, shut up, Charlie," Mullins said with a laugh at the frozen expression on the admiral's face. "He's joking. Not a good one. Major John Mullins, Admiral and this is idiot is Major Charles Gonzalvez. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"A pleasure to meet you," the admiral said with a sigh. "What went wrong?"
"I have no idea; we really aren't part of your pickup team. What happened?"
The admiral shrugged and looked out the window where dawn was just beginning to break. "I was supposed to go to a dry cleaners and drop off a pair of uniform pants. The code was that I wanted triple pressing, no starch."
"I know the laundry," Mullins said. "Lee's Cleaners on Fur De Lis Avenue?"
"That one," the admiral nodded. "I was half way down the block on my way to it when I was knocked off my feet by an explosion. When I got back up . . . boom . . . no more Chinese laundry."
"Somehow I doubt it was a gas leak," Charles said dryly.
"My doubt as well. I started to walk away and then saw State Security officers coming from every direction. I . . . I admit I panicked. I dropped the pants and ran."
"I had been running and hiding for nearly two hours when I ran into you two. And that's all I remember. Now, how are you going to get me out of here?"
"What?" Mullins said. "Why should we do that?"
"But . . . but ONI set up my defection! You have to get me out!"
"Not really, old boy," Charles replied. "It's not our mission. Just because someone else blew it, doesn't mean we have to fix their abortion. I think you're on your own."
"You can't do this!" Mládek said. "Admiral Givens herself is involved in the planning for this!"
"Sure she is," Mullins said disparagingly. "She gets involved in every two-bit admiral that jumps ship."
"I'm not just a 'two-bit' admiral," Mládek snarled. "I was in charge of Fleet communications operation and design. Although StateSec is fine at finding thugs to beat people in the head, they don't have a clue when it comes to Fleet communications and they had to use my personnel to design and maintain their systems. I saw all their traffic. And I know things . . . let's just say that I know a few things that Admiral Givens really wants details on. I'm serious. If you leave me here you might as well defect yourself or Givens will gut you alive."
Mullins looked over at Gonzalvez who nodded slightly.
"Well . . . crap," Mullins said. "Getting us out was going to be interesting enough. Getting you out, too, will be ugly."
"You have means," the admiral said with a wave. "Make contact with your chain; activate an emergency escape plan. Whatever it is you do when a mission goes bad."
"Well, as to that," Mullins replied with a chagrined look.
The admiral listened intently, occasionally shaking his head.
"You've been drinking," he said when Mullins finished. "But even though it smells like a distillery in here, I can't believe you've been drinking enough to make up that story. And I doubt you're joking . . ."
"He's not," Gonzalvez said. "But before you decide to launch into a lecture, consider the fact that if we had not chosen to take our holiday on your sunny little planet, you would now be at the tender mercy of StateSec."
