As it turned out, the whole party returned to Cordis City; Jenna and
Avon to meet with members of the underground movement, the others to
sample the fleshpots in a pleasure-loving society. No whisper of the
loss of Feldon crystals reached them, so it was supposed that the box
at the bottom of the stack in the secret strongroom had yet to be
opened.
Conscious of scrutiny, Vila behaved decorously and made no mention of
casinos, contenting himself with converting some of his Sardoan gold
into jewelry and furnishings. Vila, Reymon and Hagan had concocted the
stuff by pooling a few gold coins they had looted from Federation
personnel, who had looted them elsewhere, then copying sufficient to
produce a full sized brick. Gambit had researched the correct shape,
weight and inscription for a Vandor Confederacy ingot and a mould was
duly improvised, followed by a visit to a metallurgy laboratory. This
little project, dreamed up over a bottle of wine in the mess hall, had
been immensely enjoyable, and unknown to Vila, had the happy
side-effect of convincing Reymon that his future did not lie with the
Federation.
Of course, Orac had got wind of it and spilt the beans to Avon, who
then insisted upon a careful analysis to ensure that it contained no
unusual elements that would arouse suspicion, but apart from lecturing
them on the need for discretion, he had shown no disapproval.
Jenna, mindful of Vila's remark that they were supposed to be a mining
company, had conferred with Mikhail Brand about the design of a
`company' ingot and proceeded to duplicate a ship-load. Among the
holdings of one of the mining corporations the company had absorbed,
was a worked-out gold mine on an obscure planet. A new seam was about
to be `discovered'.
Now, comfortably flush with money, they ranged the capital's
boulevards, investigating shops, markets and warehouses, purchasing
whatever took their fancy on the pretext of refurnishing the family
home. Margit joined in with a will, having a keen eye for quality and
artistic merit and a strong appreciation of the finer things of life.
They took care not to become conspicuous, which in itself was an
enjoyable game to Vila, and rapidly acquired enough stock to justify
renting part of a warehouse. Now their cover story became trade,
instead of personal acquisition.
Brig often joined them, indulging a hitherto concealed passion for
literature, even going to the lengths of tracking down ancient paper
books, which Vila hardly dared to touch, lest they disintegrated
between his fingers. On the other hand, the old plastiform books,
equipped with their own fold-away magnifiers, attracted him much more,
and he got into the habit of reading them as he sat on the terrace,
resting between expeditions with Margit and solo visits to places of
entertainment. Soon he was rummaging through the book stalls on his
own account, and once or twice he encountered Avon on the same quest.
During the peace and security of these privileged months, Vila was
formulating a vision of his future. The process was largely
involuntary, but he was beginning to acknowledge that his career as a
thief was over. A new understanding of his position and his
responsibilities within the organisation was growing in his mind. He
was now considering his other talents and how they might benefit his
colleagues. Blake and Cally were often in his thoughts and he began to
comprehend their aims and ideals far better than he had in their
lifetimes and even to feel that he could, in his own fashion, follow
their path. Casting around for a role, he finally settled on his
vocation. Security. He would become the company's watchdog.
It was not a new concept. One of his first juvenile ventures into crime
had been as lookout for a team of burglars. Thereafter, he had swiftly
learned the ways of the security forces and the Justice Department.
Nor had he neglected to keep abreast of developments. Just as he had
used Orac or Gambit to update his knowledge of locks and codes, so he
had kept an eye on the evolution of surveillance equipment and
policing methods, priding himself on his professional expertise. But
most of all, his own wary instinct for danger fitted him for this
post.
With a newfound discretion, he did not announce his decision, but
determined on a demonstration. In the privacy of his own room, he
instructed Gambit to investigate the local security force, monitor
their communications and to locate and identify their secret agents.
Nowadays, the memory of Anna Grant constantly prompted him to caution.
If even Kerr Avon could be snared by an informer or agent provocateur,
any of the company's personnel were vulnerable. He extended his
surveillance to the acquaintances of all the visiting members that
Jenna and Avon were entertaining at their apartment during the
consultations that were afoot.
Finally his self-imposed watch paid off. The handsome young man
romancing Darota in the hotel bar, was a security agent. Vila slipped a
bug into her bag as she sallied forth to a rendezvous, and recorded a
classic probe: where was she from, what did she think of this, what
did she feel about that, had she never wanted to...; interspersed with
specious confidences about his own anti-Federation views. Fortunately
Darota remained cautiously non-committal, but on the other hand she
did not report him to Lucien. The next day Vila played the recording
to Jenna and placed the suitor's employment record before her. Her
response was swift. Darota was summoned and instructed to meet her
swain as usual that evening and to inform him that she was leaving the
next day to take up a new post off-planet, the job of her dreams, and
she was ecstatic about it. Darota wryly acquiesced and performed her
farewell speech as required. To the eavesdropping Vila's amusement, she
added a rider cautioning the disappointed young man against airing his
views on the Federation to strangers. They could get him into a lot of
trouble.
"Well Vila," said Avon, "what made you suspicious?"
They were all gathered round the remains of dinner at Margit's table,
and now they eyed him with interest. Vila wasted no time on modesty.
"This planet seems to have almost no Federation control," he replied.
"They pay their taxes and there's a token force of troopers, but they
do as they please without any interference, which makes the place a
magnet for crooks, outlaws and dissidents. It's such a good place to
spend your ill-gotten gains that I got to wondering why the Feds permit
this to go on right under their noses. And then I came to the
conclusion that they don't. So I got Gambit to look for security forces
and we discovered that this place is crawling with spies. It's the
honeypot principle. Think of all the enemies they could have trapped
here. I've got the secret records of thousands of undercover agents
and I reckoned it was only a matter of time before one of them
fastened onto one of us. So I've been tracking all of you and checking
everyone you speak to. Simple, isn't it?"
This last got a mixed reception, annoyance at being watched vied with
acknowledgement that it had been necessary.
"I wonder why he fixed on Darota," said Margit with an anxious frown.
"What did she do to make him suspicious?"
"Probably nothing," answered Vila. "Hanging around in bars and
picking up girls is part of their routine, and very nice too." He
grinned round at them in his old cocky way.
"And what makes you such an expert on the police?" drawled Avon.
But Vila was not to be put down.
"I've been an expert on the security forces since I was seven years
old," he retorted with pride. "I have been a professional thief, the
rest of you were just amateurs. Well, perhaps not Jenna," he amended.
Margit laughed. "Well since you've got such an obvious talent for this
sort of thing, you'd better keep at it."
That's what I wanted to hear, he said to himself. Aloud he added,
"My advice is to find somewhere else to meet your agents."
"Taken," said Jenna.
"He's perfectly right," she said to Avon that night, as she prepared
to turn out the light. "We can't use this place again. A pity, it's so
central and I don't want people coming to Silmarino, somehow."
Avon settled back on his pillow and considered. "An alternative would
be the goldmine on VM90. You can hardly dignify the place with the
name of planet, really; it's just a large asteroid. The gravity is too
low for it ever to be worth terraforming as it could never retain a
proper atmosphere, so it will never be settled. Put in a couple of
Feldon generators and improve the living quarters."
"Ugh," said Jenna, "I hate these places. Is it covered in ice, like
Pluto?"
"No, rocky, more like Miranda. We have to do something with the premises
as part of our fiction about the gold strike, and freighters coming
and going won't arouse any comment."
"We could legitimately put in defences, too," said Jenna.
"Protection from pirates."
She yawned and switched off the light. During their masquerade as man
and wife they had drifted into physical intimacy. It was only physical
and curiously passionless, but it had its moments.
Presently she felt his hand brush her shoulder.
Vila's mind was also on matters sexual. As he lay in the dark he was
aware of a vague desire to settle down with a woman and a family. But
with whom? Briefly he considered Margit, an experienced and equable
lady, though she had left three husbands and two children in the wake
of her turbulent youth. But Margit was too much the elder sister
really, it was a gulf not to be bridged. His thoughts turned to the
companionable widow at Silmarino whose children he taught conjuring
tricks - Zolanj. Quite different from his lost Kerrill, gentle and
maternal, but with depths in her dark eyes. Now wouldn't that jewelry
he had purchased look magnificent on Zolanj? He was fairly certain
she would agree, and he had a notion that he would apply for Ro's
approval, delicately and respectfully.
Yes. They would build their own home, his first real home on
Silmarino, if you didn't count the Liberator, and he would
construct a surveillance station to watch the galaxy. He would keep
the pseudonym `Warren'. During his reading he had come across its
significance and the idea of an underground maze inhabited by furtive
little animals with long ears was most appropriate. Smiling to
himself, he fell asleep.
[GP + 4y 7m]
Quietly the group stole away. Vila and Margit were the last to leave,
taking a passage to neutral Corollus on a commercial cruiser, where
they rejoined the waiting Freya. Mikhail Brand was already
aboard and as they cruised along the ship's scheduled route, the
progress of their campaign was picked over and dissected. More and
more the name of Carnell was mentioned. Established in a decayed
private college with extensive acres ripe for redevelopment, the
psychostrategist's institute was beginning its first semester. His
initial batch of staff and students were pursuing fairly standard
psychology and sociology study programmes, but soon, research students,
hand-picked from the ranks of the conspirators, would start on
the real agenda.
Their first destination was the goldmine on VM90, a large rock and ice asteroid in the Vinca Minor system. Although near the heart of Federation territory, Vinca Minor was seldom visited because it contained no habitable planets, merely several thousand asteroids whose mineral potential had long since been explored and exploited. The Federation's only presence now was an automatic navigational beacon on VM6, the largest asteroid, whose orbit was far from VM90's. On the face of it, a good site for a secret base. An excellent place, too, for a multi-frequency listening post, so close to Earth and Space Command Headquarters. Avon was designing an intelligent communications system to sift out the significant information for Orac and Gambit to analyse. Rather than run the risk of other parties intercepting its relayed messages, the system would be passive. Orac and Gambit would download packets of accumulated data at their own convenience, in their own virtually undetectable fashion.
"Phew, what a slum," said Vila, surveying the abandoned living
quarters at the mine head, "worse than Freya was."
"Too right," Margit wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Why do these
miners always have to live like pigs? And have you seen that liquor
still and the bottle dump?"
"Mmm, alcoholic pigs evidently. We're going to have our work cut out
to make this place habitable."
"How fortunate that you two are such experts," said Avon coolly.
"You'll have it shipshape in next to no time."
"Pass me the ratcatchers," said Margit facetiously.
"All the same, it will do quite well," said Jenna, when she and
Mikhail had finished their exploration. "The premises are large
enough and they can be adapted for our purposes quite easily. I
propose we make a start on the clearing up operation, we can do a lot
in ten days."
A few days' intensive work made a great difference to the place. Brig
and Avon repaired the station's disintegrator and the detritus was fed
into it by Freya's cleaning robots. Then they sat down to plan its
future shape and facilities.
"I want an underground hangar, like the one at Xenon base," Avon
stipulated. "If we have any large meetings with several spacecraft
present, I want to hide them from prying eyes."
"We will be bringing in the excavators soon," said Jenna, after a
moment's consideration, "where do you want it?"
"Somewhere near the top of Big Cliff," said Avon.
Vila pursed his lips in a silent whistle. Big Cliff was the stupendous
feature on the horizon. Twelve kilometres high, it was a souvenir of a
major comet impact which had fragmented VM90. When the planetoid
regrouped, the pieces had not slotted neatly back into their original
places and the rugged little world, with barely enough mass to form a
sphere, now presented a lumpy appearance. Big Cliff could conceal the
entire Federation fleet with ease.
"Force field doors," suggested Vila, "like Thingummyjig, only set
to look like rock."
Avon nodded. "Plus computer controlled tractor beam landing. We don't
want any accidents."
"Tractor beam equipment won't be easy to find," remarked Mikhail.
"It's not permitted for civilian use so we shall have to go to
neutrals or steal them from Space Command. Neutrals will charge top
prices and there's always the danger of the Federation hearing about
it."
"Well, as Vila is so fond of saying, `stealing's quicker'," drawled
Avon. "I think we can contrive to lay our hands on what we need."
It was Jenna's turn to purse her lips, this time at Avon's habitual
needling of Brand. It was reminiscent of his conduct towards Blake,
and fortunately Mikhail took it with a similar good grace. In a way,
it could be
seen as grudging acknowledgement of authority, for although Mikhail
never attempted to dominate their conferences, it was his organisation
that carried through their operations inside the Federation.
"We will look into this matter carefully," she said forbiddingly.
"No one is to take stupid risks."
Avon returned her frown with a disingenuous blandness that clearly
intimated he would do as he pleased.
"Well, if you must steal," said Vila into the slightly uncomfortable
silence, "for Pete's sake steal from neutrals, who aren't so likely
to put two and two together.
"But of course," said Avon silkily.
The meeting moved onto the topic of reconfiguring and equipping the
premises. Since there was no conflict, things moved along briskly.
What could be supplied from Freya's stores would be installed
immediately and the remainder would be sent with Argus,
including a varied arsenal to protect the fictitious gold.
"I want a really good master computer to run the base and the
weaponry systems," stated Jenna. "Something unobtrusive but
all-seeing."
"Another Zen, in fact?" This was from Avon.
"Perhaps, but camouflaged, no flashing lights or talking in front of
strangers."
Avon thought for a few moments. "A high grade standard AI machine
that we can adapt, controlling a network of specialist computers. It's
not difficult to get the hardware, it's the systems design and
programming that takes the time and effort."
Why not another Orac? Vila wondered, then answered his own
question - too independent to be left to its own devices. You could
never take Orac's loyalty for granted, not even Gambit's.
"Does Orac still retain the details of Zen's program?" asked Jenna.
"I'm sure it does. Well, get me the hardware and we will do our
best." His tone was casual, but Vila was sure he was taken with the
idea. Avon never liked to be idle.
On the ninth day the T21 troop transporter that they intended to
abandon as a decoy, arrived. Artistically damaged with the cruiser's
plasma bolts, its life support systems inoperative, it had made its
indirect way under Orac's remote control, to Vinca Minor. A few small
touches and it would continue to the location where it could be set
adrift to be discovered and puzzled over in years to come. Vila, Brig
and Margit donned pressure suits and enjoyed themselves faking
evidence of a panic-stricken evacuation. The crew life capsules were
removed and a transfer tube was run out and left trailing
suggestively, personal equipment and sidearms were scattered around,
as if thrown aside in a stampede for safety.
"Of course, a few bodies would complete the picture," said Margit
cheerfully, as they watched it go, "but they'll have to imagine a
scenario where everybody got out, won't they?"
Vila privately thought the finders would recognize a red herring when
they found one, but still, it had been fun.
"Anything new?" he asked Gambit as he entered his quarters that
night.
"Possibly, if you are still interested in the Terra Nostra."
"Go on." He opened his locker and poured himself a drink.
"It seems that fighting has broken out within the organisation and
there have been many casualties, including Enzo, Largo's successor at
Space City."
This was good news. Vila settled comfortably into an easy chair. "Has
anybody won yet?"
"No, Vila. Space Command is still occupying Zondar and the Shadow
operation is at a standstill. The bloodletting is mainly a series of
vendettas following accusations of treachery."
"What are the President and the Supreme Commander doing?"
"They are saying nothing, but Space Command has brought several units
of the fleet back to main base from the outer planets. Neutral
newcasters are speculating on a coup."
"Oh well, that's keeping them occupied," said Vila flippantly. He
drained his glass and poured himself another.
The following day a substantial part of the Sardoan gold was unloaded
from Freya's hold. As a precaution against raiders, a few kilos were
deposited in the minehead strong-room, while the remainder was cached
in the carefully shielded hiding place that Avon and Brig had
constructed while the cleaning process was going on. It was equipped
with a robot arm to pass the ingots in and out, something of a
necessity because, on the principle that treasure hunters were more
likely to search walls and floors for buried gold, it had been located
in the ceiling of the reception area. It would be controlled by the
master computer and Avon was designing a system that would seal off
the area and freeze the scanners while it was in operation. Only those
whose voices were registered with the computer could operate it,
provided that they knew how to initiate the whole sequence in the
first place.
"Satisfied?" asked Jenna.
"On the whole," said Avon, climbing out of his pressure suit. He
removed a chunk of rock from the sample bag he had deposited on the
table and looked at it in the strong light. "I'll get Orac to analyse
it, but I don't see it giving the tunnellers much trouble."
"Good." Jenna picked out a piece for herself, a dark, grainy
crystalline rock with a few metallic flecks. She wondered idly if it
would take a polish. She looked up at Avon. "That's it, we're
finished here for the present. Let's go home."
Home? Avon had not heard her use that word before. Jenna had evidently
made Silmarino her home and Vila was likely to follow suit, but for
himself? No, all places were alike, he dwelt only within himself.
[GP + 5y 2m]
It had rained earlier and Jenna had taken shelter in the rough wooden
summer house, a thatched octagonal hut with overhanging eaves. A
continuous bench was built into the waist-high walls and eight rustic
posts supported the roof. Its open aspect made it untenable if there
was also any wind, but today's rain fell softly and Jenna had simply
moved her folding table inside. She was occupied with a portable
reader, scanning micro records that Gambit and Orac had procured from
certain data banks. As always, several mungos had joined her,
inquisitive faces peering at the screen, little paws patting at the
keys or tugging at her hair, heads butting at her hands for caresses.
Absently, she stroked or moved them aside as she concentrated on the
text before her, not knowing what she was looking for, but certain she
would recognize it when she saw it.
Something caught the animals' attention, heads swung, ears pricked.
Catching their movement, Jenna looked up, Avon was coming along the
path between the dripping trees. She pushed the reader away from her
and sat back to watch his approach.
He paused in the doorway. "I have something to tell you," he began.
She gestured him to be seated and he sat facing her, looking directly
into her eyes.
"I am leaving Horizon," he said. After a pause to gauge her
reaction, he continued, "I think you will agree that I have worked
very hard for your cause over the last few years, with a fair degree
of success. Now it is time to go."
"My cause?" Jenna struggled with a sense of disbelief. Was he
intending to abandon everything?
"Your project, then. Sapping the Federation's strength through a
million little wounds. It can continue perfectly well without my
presence."
This was true. As Vila had foreseen, they were now extremely and
legitimately wealthy. The company's influence was growing rapidly,
both within the Federation and outside among the independents. A
succession of scandals had damaged most levels of government and Space
Command was growing increasingly disaffected.
"What then?" she asked, half dreading what his answer might be.
"What next? It's no use bringing down the Federation if you have
nothing better to replace it. Collapse and anarchy merely favour
warlords and more despotism." He sat back, watching her closely.
Jenna felt a small surge of relief. "Ah," she said, "Brig's
question."
"Precisely. Blake never had the time to give much consideration to
this problem, even if he really appreciated its importance. We do have
the time and the means."
"That's Carnell's task, surely. Can't you leave it to him?"
"Frankly, I don't know enough about psychostrategy to judge. If this
is really the way to success, I had better take the time to study it.
If I don't understand it, I can't control it, so I intend to pick
Carnell's brains and watch him like a hawk at the same time. I do not
trust that man."
He was leaving her and there was no way she could prevent him. He had
served his sentence and the moral ascendancy she had gained with
Blake's death had slipped away. Time to let go.
"It will take years of study to master a subject like that," she
said eventually.
"I know."
She took a deep breath, as if preparing to plunge into deep waters.
"Obviously you must take precautions against being recognized. A
small campus like that, there could be people with sharp eyes and long
memories. Try not stand out among the other research students. You can
keep tabs on Carnell, only please don't antagonize him."
Becoming reconciled to the idea, she grew briskly businesslike.
"You'll take Orac, of course, and we'll keep in regular contact
through Gambit. After all, we may want to consult you about our
business interests. I also think you should return here at least
once a year to report and confer."
Gravely he nodded his assent.
Irrationally, perhaps, Jenna disliked the thought of Avon living
alone, and she wondered how she could keep an eye on him. Maybe one of
the other company researchers could help her. Then it crossed her
mind that he might be intending to ask Lara Gambovska to be his
companion. Would she leave Sardos? She might, especially if she was
offered a chance to participate in such an important project. Jenna
knew it was unworthy of her to be jealous of another woman,
particularly one she liked, but she had to strive to subdue a niggling
sense of envy. She could not help a feeling of loss. She had become
accustomed to Avon's presence and found it supportive. Even his habitual
verbal sniping was often useful, sharpening people's wits and causing
them to consider their next step. She might miss that most of all.
The pause lengthened and rain began to whisper through the leaves once
more. They sat in the dim interior as the daylight faded, engrossed in
their own thoughts until Avon finally broke the silence.
"I shan't be leaving for a few months yet, the academic year for the
institute isn't finished, and I have some preliminary research to
do." He stood up. "I felt I should give you plenty of notice of my
plans."
"Perhaps we should all be studying the subject." Jenna got to her
feet and reached for her waterproof.
"Oh yes," Avon's voice took on the familiar acid tone, "I can just
see Vila applying himself with enthusiasm."
In spite of herself, Jenna had to smile.
"This Federation is falling apart!" The President was pacing to and
fro in front of his cabinet ministers in obvious agitation, punctuating
his speech with jerky gesticulations.
"Is anyone to be trusted? Space Command is riddled with disloyalty
at every level, those officers who aren't outright traitors are
dangerously inept. Industry and banking services are a byword for
corruption, research and development have virtually ground to a halt,
we are being overtaken by the independents in crucial areas like
spacecraft design. Organized crime is right out of control, drug
addiction and gang wars kill millions." He glared red-eyed at his
audience.
From his place on the back row, Joban watched in disgust. The man was
giving way to panic. Still, he was glad he was not in his place.
Fortunately his advanced age would prevent the poisoned chalice from
passing to him. Judging by the expressions on his colleagues' faces,
they were not eager to receive it either.
"And now," the President continued, voice shaking with indignation,
"now, I find members of my own cabinet trading with enemies, taking
bribes, passing information."
Surprise, surprise, jeered Joban inwardly. You've emasculated
the whole government, you must expect them to get up to mischief.
Furthermore, this self-righteous gobbling about corruption does not
become you - we know who runs the Terra Nostra.
"Here comes the dire penalty warning," muttered his neighbour.
"...And I warn anyone who's thinking of following their example, that
I regard this as treason and it will be treated accordingly."
"It'll be enemy plots next," returned Joban, out of the side of his
mouth.
"...You are playing into the hands of our enemies. Their agents are
everywhere, they are constantly plotting our downfall." The
President's voice rose to a full-blooded rant. "We must unite as never
before, we must be vigilant as never before, we must..."
© Copyright Vega (Frances Teagle), 1999.