Carpe Diem

by Sharon Lee

  "Invaders? Invaders! Oh, my word! Cory—where's Estra?"

  "Estra okay, Miri missing. You call police—army. I go."

  He let the phone down to dangle from its wire and, after momentary consideration, cut the outside wire.

  From high in the house came four measured shots and, a moment later, three more.

  Miri! Very faintly Val Con was aware of relief, then he was moving back toward the dining room.

  The handgun held only three more shots, and he hefted one of the fallen long-arms. It was dirty, corroded in several spots, and had only seven rounds in the magazine. He thought he would be lucky if it worked at all; and the recoil might slow him.

  A volley of shots sounded from upstairs, a high-pitched keening riding above: the Gyrfalks' battle cry!

  More shots from upstairs; the rumble of booted feet, running; voices, shouting; pounding— Val Con was moving, taking the stairs three at a time, lugging the stupid weapons with him.

  At the top of the stair was a crowd of soldiers, their backs toward him, watching the one who had apparently just broken in the attic door.

  The heavy rifle was up and firing at the backs of heads—he managed three shots before the gun jammed, and he brought the pistol up to kill three more.

  A shot was fired wildly from the left. Val Con dodged, cuffed the soldier heavily across the face with the spent pistol, and stepped to the next, knife out.

  The confined space made it hard for the remaining soldiers to react. Behind, all they saw was smoke and the surging motions of someone demented.

  One of the enemies dropped his weapon. Another followed suit, speaking sounds that might have meant surrender. Val Con found a soldier with a gun in his hand and killed him with a blade thrust. He looked for more, but saw only weak weaponless creatures, cowering before him.

  From the attic came several more measured shots, then surrender sounds there, as well, and the Gyrfalks' keen.

  Val Con lunged forward, snatched up a fallen weapon, and held it on the six survivors as he worked his way to the base of the attic stairs.

  "Friend?" The word was in Terran, the voice husky and familiar.

  Val Con hesitated, groping for a switch that slid from his mind-grip, and located an adequate response. "Cha'trez."

  They heard another burst of gunfire outside. Hakan? Was Hakan there?

  Down the attic stairs came a red-haired woman, pushing several unarmed enemies before her. She carried a well-oiled, wood-clad rifle; a stickknife of Liaden Scout issue was thrust through her belt.

  She shoved her prisoners among his six and came to his side, looking worriedly into his face. "What took you so long?"

  There was a sudden racket outside, punctuated by the sound of automatic guns.

  "Guard them!" Val Con snapped, and rushed off, running silently down the stairs.

  Miri stood very still, then looked at her prisoners and asked them very plainly, in Terran, "Now where's he gone to?"

  Her tone must have sounded extremely threatening; they backed as a shivering group into Zhena Trelu's upstairs parlor, one of them tenderly helping the boy with the smashed nose and swollen eye.

  Miri sat on the arm of the sewing chair, rifle ready across her knees. Her prisoners sat carefully on the floor and avoided looking at her.

  "We won, I guess," she said, after a time and to no one in particular. "Hot damn."

  LIAD

  Dispassion. Control. Calculation. Success.

  Tyl Von sig'Alda reviewed those concepts as he walked to the conference room. No hint of anything other than confidence escaped him; the occasional agent he passed registered no sign of doubt; the underlings and clerks averted their eyes, in the usual deference to an Agent of Change.

  He had spent two days writing the report that outlined his reasoning, his deductions, the probabilities cited by his Loop, and his suggested course of action.

  A bare quarter-shift after he had submitted it, he had received orders to attend the upcoming meeting. He had three days, then, to wait inside the deep complex, the underground control center that would one day be the command post for a galaxy. Three days to reconsider and to seek his own errors, while the Department moved deliberately on with the Plan.

  The problem: the Terran female. The other problem: yos'Phelium himself.

  The Loop flickered, indicating that he would reach the conference room within fifteen seconds of his targeted time.

  He had been thorough, he assured himself; the report had been dispassionate. Calculating. Controlled.

  Success . . .The door was before him.

  Opening the door was proof enough of success.

  The room was arranged for a working meeting: enough chairs but no more, an erasable board with supplies, and people waiting—for him. There was no interrupted conversation, no surprise.

  The commander was there; his presence explained the careful scheduling of the meeting. The three others were his weapons master from first training, the shift biomed specialist, and the exotic pharmaceuticals specialist.

  One chair remained empty. Tyl Von sig'Alda bowed to the room and sat down. Five chairs for the table with five equal sides—an eloquent statement of the meeting's melant'i. All who sat there were met as experts, to teach and learn equally.

  "Agent," the commander said gravely. "Your report has been read and analyzed. Additional factors beyond your prior scope of operation and information have been considered. We meet to synthesize an entirely appropriate response to the situation. The Department takes this matter to be of the utmost seriousness."

  sig'Alda bowed his head in acknowledgment. Not merely important, but of the utmost seriousness . . .He touched the Loop; accessed the program allowing concentration on all levels.

  "We concur in your assessment that yos'Phelium's genes and Clan environment have contributed to his success as an agent—and to the current uncertainties. Clan Korval tends toward maverick. That they are Liaden is more accident than intent. That they are a success cannot be denied. You have seen the files: They search for yos'Phelium even as we speak. More, Korval begins to meddle in our affairs—the First Speaker mentions us all too frequently in public conversations; subtle inquiries arise in strange places.

  "We have considered eliminating the current leader, Nova yos'Galan. The house is tainted with Terran blood—" The commander paused and looked around the small table. "Actions reducing the leadership of Korval have occurred in the past. The timing of a new trimming must be weighed carefully. We do not, for example, know why they pursue their kin so ardently. Is it merely 'Clan business'? Is there a deeper plan? Do they intend to supplant us in controlling Liad's interests in space? Of all the Clans, only Korval might mount a respectable military threat against Liad without allies."

  sig'Alda found the weight of the commander's eyes upon him alone.

  "Understand that Val Con yos'Phelium's recruitment as an Agent was a five-year program requiring expenditure of several operatives, as well as much cost. His usefulness to the Department extends among many lines of action, not the least of which has been his extreme effectiveness in carrying out assignments on our behalf. That he leaves Korval in the hands of a half-blooded merchant family we intended, eventually, to exploit.

  "Therefore, every contingency you mentioned in your report, and many others, have been analyzed. The possibility that Clan Korval might attempt to reclaim yos'Phelium and secure him as Delm—that alone—would make our search worthwhile. His knowledge must not fall into half-blood hands. He must not be subverted to use what he has learned from us—for the preservation of Liad!—for the sole gain of Clan Korval. His abilities . . .Tyl Von sig'Alda, this will be your most important assignment as an Agent of Change. You will locate and return Agent yos'Phelium to us. If he is dead, you will bring us a body, bones, witnesses."

  The commander had named him! He nearly missed the bow to the biomed specialist. That man began at once.

  "The working model assumes you will locate yos'Phelium and be require
d to secure him physically. To do so you must be aware of certain factors." The man stood, grabbed up a point-writer, and began marking on the message surface.

  "Your information package contains complete graphs. The overview is this: One, Korval seems purposefully aimed at achieving speed and accuracy of reflex in its members. Only a pilot may become Delm; Delm's genes are those most likely to be passed on.

  "Our tests show that, under normal circumstances, yos'Phelium's response time is a measurable three to four percent faster than yours. In certain high-stress situations tested during training his responses were another two percent faster yet. You, of course, have continued to train and have a newer implementation of the Probability Loop—we project that, effectively, you are his equal. Lack of vitamins, isolation, depression, injuries—your report indicates he received combat damage—such factors suggest an advantage to you, should he need to be reminded of his loyalties. We give you charts, as I mentioned. Also—" The biomed man nodded across the table.

  "At the commander's urging we have considered other possibilities," the pharmacist said, "and have developed a new design of perceptual stimulants. These enhance the ability of the brain to process information received from the senses, thus increasing the ability of the agent to respond rapidly and efficiently to outside stimuli."

  She frowned severely at sig'Alda. "These stimulants are not to be used during Jump; they should not be used at a rate of more than six doses per Standard day. Note that only under extreme emergency conditions should you take three doses together. Take one if you consider action likely, another if action is imminent or carries a high risk factor.

  "A muscle-tone enhancer will also be supplied: See me, it is an implant." With that, the pharmacist fell silent.

  The commander spoke almost softly. "Your analysis of Val Con yos'Phelium's actions during recent events, Agent sig'Alda, is inconclusive in the extreme. We have gained no insight into the reasons or the circumstances contributing to yos'Phelium's use of the Terran mercenary. Others, however, have studied the mercenary with care."

  sig'Alda felt the rebuke keenly, understanding that he might have followed his original urge to discover more.

  The commander's pause was brief—enough to emphasize, not enough to require an answer. "Therapy records indicate a difficult case," he went on. "The Terran escaped from rehabilitative isolation several times during the course of treatment, and the doctor's final report reads merely: 'Subject no longer chemically dependent upon Lethecronaxion.' Our analysis of this phrasing indicates continued psychological dependence. This offers opportunity for manipulation."

  The pharmacist touched a pocket and brought out several, small, plastic bags containing an ivory colored powder.

  "This bag," she said, holding it out to him, "has a red dot on the seal. It is standard Lethecronaxion inasmuch as any drug of this kind is standard—of extremely high quality. Therapy records indicate the subject had a tendency to synergize this, ah, Cloud, with alcohol, thus becoming forgetful and intractable at once. The dose here is adequate for a large Terran male; the addict will be familiar with ingestion techniques."

  sig'Alda was aware of uneasiness and touched the Loop for calm. Addicts . . .His dislike faded under the Loop exercise, and he once more gave the specialist full attention.

  "This bag has a blue dot." She handed it to him. "It has the same overall weight, a double-strength dose of Cloud, and a time-release double dose of something you are well familiar with: MemStim."

  sig'Alda smiled at the blue dot. Of course!

  "Yes," the pharmacist said, apparently pleased with his approval. "Agents use MemStim while reporting to aid the exact recall of events. This particular mix also contains a disinhibitor and an experimental receptor flush-and-bind." The pharmacist dared a smile of her own. "I designed the packets several days ago. Tests on subjects of the approximate mass of the Terran show interesting effects.

  "Initial effect is unremarkable to Lethecronaxion: all memory older than a few hours, and, later, memory older than a few minutes, becomes uncertain, clouded—hence the vernacular designation. At the time release, the flush was nearly instantaneous, throwing the subjects from complete cloud-effect to a deep MemStim state. The beauty of the flush-and-bind system is that it ties the MemStim to those receptors most affected by the Lethecronaxion. An addict—or, for that matter, anyone who takes MemStim—has trained receptor sites; in the case of a Cloud user, these sites are most likely to be triggers to painful memories, else why cloud them?" The pharmacist paused, glanced at the commander, and received a wave that indicated she should continue.

  "Thus the subjects went from total repression of unwanted memories to a total and enhanced recall. Depending on the amount of alcohol and disinhibitor in their systems, subjects recalled their memories to the point of reexperience. Variously, subjects attempted suicide, became delirious, bit and clawed at themselves, or were otherwise incoherent for periods exceeding half a Standard day. I expect that when the receptor-stimulus time is reached—that is, when another fix is required—there will be another period of disorder."

  sig'Alda placed the packets carefully into his belt. The Loop showed a ten-percent gain in Chance of Mission Success, stipulating the opportunity to introduce the mixed drugs to the Terran.

  The commander bowed to the drug expert, then toward the weapons man, who began to speak.

  "We've run an analysis on yos'Phelium's mission reports and compared it with known events in the recent unreported mission. We have the following guidelines and comparisons." He took a breath, fixed his eyes on a spot above sig'Alda's head, and began.

  "First, we have uncovered a bias. The Department had been taking advantage of yos'Phelium's ability to operate close to his targets. This consideration figured in his last mission—terminating an upper-level Terran agent in a bombproofed building. A more carefully factored reading shows that Agent yos'Phelium has a tendency to use a knife or other bladed weapon far more frequently than would have been expected from his training. This affinity leaves him vulnerable to middistance pacification by projectile weapons. He has a good-to-excellent rating with pellet weapons, but Agent sig'Alda's rating is within the margin of error."

  The weapons master deigned to meet sig'Alda's eyes. "You," he said calmly, "will take extra practice with a variety of weapons before leaving. You will be equal to yos'Phelium at his best. We have tapes of his practices, and a competition program will be constructed for your practice sessions." He paused and redirected his eyes to a point above sig'Alda's head. "Given Agent yos'Phelium's tendency toward bladed weapons, it is suggested that Agent sig'Alda wear flexi-mesh."

  The commander bowed to the three experts. "Your reports are most useful."

  The dismissal was clear, and they all rose. sig'Alda stood, as well, but at a glance from the commander he sat again as the experts left the room. Dispassion, control, he repeated to himself.

  "Your desire to pursue your mission immediately is appreciated, sig'Alda," the commander said. "You will consider yourself to be on mission now; you will leave this building only to leave the planet under orders. I will now address a resource with which you cannot be familiar."

  The commander stood, went to the door, and set the portal locks. Then glancing at a wrist device, he rotated in place.

  sig'Alda felt confusion and astonishment. The commander was checking for a spy, here, within the heart of the Department?

  The commander returned and sat, hand on table so that the wrist-warn could be seen clearly by both.

  "You are among our most excellent agents," he said. "And the one we seek is also among our most excellent agents. Understand this completely and explicitly: Your mission is to find Val Con yos'Phelium and return with him. If he is dead you will provide explicit and complete proof. If you find him alive and he refuses, in spite of all your best persuasions, to return—then you will bring explicit and complete proof that he is dead. His head will do for proof; or several portions of his spinal column."
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br />   sig'Alda blinked.

  "Yes. I give you precedence. Do you understand?"

  "Yes." sig'Alda bowed. "yos'Phelium is to return, even if under extreme compulsion."

  "Exactly. We must not, at this juncture in the Plan, allow any Clan an opportunity to question our goals or to subvert our information. Now—extreme compulsion takes several forms. Death is but one of them.

  "You have heard it mentioned that your training came after yos'Phelium's. Certain safeguards available to you are not available to him. You, for example, may go into 'Hold'; keeping yourself and your mind closed to outside interference until brought back by a special command issued by myself. This avoids the possibility of interrogation. Earlier implementations were not as secure, nor were they self-activated.

  "There is a set sequence of phrase and echo built into Agent yos'Phelium's Loop. When you present the beginning of the sequence, he will respond—he must. If you continue, he must continue. At the conclusion of this sequence, yos'Phelium will be as a tractable imbecile: He will follow orders without question."

  The commander glanced at the wrist telltale, then back at the rapt sig'Alda. "You will be the third person to know this sequence. You will not, under any circumstances, divulge or discuss this with anyone but myself or my successor. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Commander."

  "Good. Tyl Von sig'Alda clare try qwit—"

  He blinked. The phrase had not quite made sense.

  The commander was smiling. "All is well, Tyl Von. When the sequence is needed, it is yours by repeating yos'Phelium's name, and then 'clare try qwit glass fer.'"

  The commander extended a hand. In it was a small blue pin in the shape of a Liaden glow-gull in full flight.

  "You are my deputy, Tyl Von sig'Alda. You may not fail." The agent took the badge of trust and bowed, momentarily touching the commander's cold hand. There was nothing to say.