Backshot (12 page)

“Have you ever heard of Niagara Falls?” Obannion asked. He noticed that she hadn’t objected to the newlywed masquerade and wondered if that meant she simply accepted it. Dwan looked blank. Gossner said, “Isn’t that on Earth? A big waterfall or something?”

“That’s right. For a couple of centuries, people thought it was a very romantic place. Many newlyweds went there for their honeymoons. There’s an even more spectacular waterfall close by New Granum, where you’ll be staying. It’s a popular honeymoon destination for the people in that quadrant of Human Space who can afford it.

“You’ll be masquerading as honeymooners.” Obannion said that calmly. Gossner kept his face blank and didn’t look at Dwan. The look she gave Obannion almost made him tense to dive for cover.

“I saw that in section a,” Dwan said. “Is this somebody’s idea of a joke?” she demanded. “If it is, it’s not funny.”

Obannion shook his head. “Those are the orders as they came from Earth. I doubt the bureaucrats there have that kind of sense of humor.”

“Do they expect us to, you know . . .” Gossner said uncertainly.

“No. That’s covered in the note to section a. But you have to act like you’re newlyweds anyplace where people can see you.”

Gossner sighed and Dwan shot him a look that Obannion was glad wasn’t directed at him. Otherwise, it was going better than he had feared. But how would she act once they were undercover?

“Finish reading the orders,” Obannion said. He waited until they were through, then got out the package that had come with Annex 2 and opened it again. Sorting through the documents, he made two stacks, one for each.

“These are your documents.” He waited while they inspected them, then got out the wigs. “Put these on.” He was surprised at how well the wigs fit; Dwan hardly even had to tuck any of her own hair under hers. “Now feel them, probe with your fingers.” They quickly found and withdrew the wands. He walked them through operating them. Within two minutes, they had found all the concealed recorders in the office.

“You’ll need to check your hotel room, and every other place where you want to talk privately, to be certain you aren’t under electronic observation.” He then pointed to the two bulky parcels. “There’s one for each of you, your names are on them. Open them now.”

They did. Gossner whistled at the clothing his parcel held. “Do I get to keep these when the mission’s over?” he asked.

“I don’t know, the orders don’t cover that. We’ll have to wait for further instructions.”

“What’s this?” Dwan asked. She held up an ordinary-looking purse mirror and pressed a slight indentation on its back. The mirroring vanished and it became a clear glass. The crystal that had come in the package with the documents and wigs was still in Obannion’s reader. He opened the book to one of the pages with hidden data and took the now-clear mirror from her. When he looked at the reader through the mirror, he saw things that weren’t there when he simply looked at the screen.

“This is what you use to see the hidden instructions,” he said. “The indentation is keyed to the print of your right index finger and that of Sergeant Gossner. Take care not to open it in the presence of anyone not cleared for knowledge of the mission.”

Dwan grunted and took the mirror back. The comm beeped, Obannion picked it up and listened. When he put it down, he said, “The civilian freighter
Ore King
breaks orbit the day after tomorrow, bound for New Genesee. You board her tomorrow. Do you have any other questions?”

Dwan mulled over the mission orders. Whoever wrote the orders, at least the annex, was right: She and Gossner were the logical choice for this mission. “You know, sir,” she said, “this isn’t sniping. In the Marines, sniping is when a soldier shoots a selected enemy soldier or officer, either a target of opportunity or by selection. Deliberately shooting a civilian leader is assassination.”

There it was, the thing that bothered Obannion about the mission to begin with, and even more ever since he realized who was going.

“Do you have a problem with that, Lance Corporal?” he asked.

“Hell no, sir! Not as long as it’s properly authorized. Anyone who can shoot straight can be a sniper. But it takes real class to be an assassin.”

Obannion didn’t let his relief show, or his surprise at her reply. “Take your parcels. I’ll arrange for your transportation to Cunningham Field, and a shuttle to the
Ore King
. He stood and held out his hand.

“Good hunting, Marines.”

“Thank you, sir,” they said in turn as they shook his hand. They returned to attention, about-faced, and marched from his office carrying their parcels.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lakeview, New Genesee

When the
Admiral Nelson
pulled into orbit around New Genesee, rotating shore liberty was sounded for all hands—one-quarter of the officers and crew remained on duty while the rest headed planetside. Every six hours Standard, an equal number launched to orbit to assume duty, allowing those who had the duty to take a turn planetside. The sailors thought having eighteen out of every twenty-four hours planetside during the
Admiral Nelson
’s six days at New Genesee was pretty good. The Marines of second platoon didn’t have to rotate back to ship for duty; they had rooms in the Tartar Arms, a mid-level hotel, where all of them spent significant amounts of time tending to their weapons, uniforms, gear, and study. They didn’t mind having to take part in the New Genesee Enlargement Day parade, not when they found out that was the price the Confederation embassy extracted in exchange for paying for their hotel rooms and two meals a day. None of the Marines except Lieutenant Tevedes and Gunnery Sergeant Lytle knew that the reason the
Admiral Nelson
was orbiting New Genesee for a week was because they had to wait for Sergeant Gossner and Lance Corporal Dwan to arrive and board the SpaceFun Lines cruise ship
Crimson Seas
. Gossner and Dwan had to reach Atlas several days in advance of the platoon. Gossner and Dwan made planetfall on New Genesee only long enough to transfer from the shuttle that brought them down from the
Ore King
to the shuttle that took them back up to the
Crimson Seas
. Room 581, The Tartar Arms, Lakeview, New Genesee Lieutenant Gott Tevedes learned quickly that the Tartar Arms was the facility the Confederation embassy sometimes used to house visiting minor dignitaries. He appreciated the fact that the Embassy picked up the tab for the rooms; the accommodations the Marines had on the
Admiral Nelson
were cramped—they always were for Marines traveling aboard fast frigates.

“I logged you in as on TAD to the embassy to march in the celebration of New Genesee’s Enlargement Day, the day the world was admitted as a full member of the Confederation,” embassy Chief of Staff Raymondo Schenck explained after he handed over a sealed envelope. “Of course, that means you’ll actually have to march. Do you have appropriate uniforms with you?” He managed not to look too disappointed when Tevedes didn’t open the envelope in front of him. Tevedes and Gunnery Sergeant Lytle exchanged a glance.

“Only what you see and our chameleons,” Tevedes replied. He and Lytle were in their dull green garrison utility uniforms; they didn’t have any civilian clothing with them. Schenck asked, “Well then, can you look real soldierly? I mean with weapons and all, like you’re about to go to war?”

“And be visible, you mean?” Lytle asked. Schenck blinked. “Of course, visible. How else would you be?”

Neither Marine bothered to explain.

“Yessir, we can look ready to fight,” Tevedes assured him. Thus assured, Schenck returned to the embassy. Gunny Lytle looked curiously at the envelope that Lieutenant Tevedes weighed in his hand once they were alone.

“Sealed orders,” Tevedes said softly. He broke the envelope open. It contained a flimsy sheet of paper and another sealed envelope. The two Marines exchanged a glance—yet more orders. Tevedes held the sheet so Lytle could read along with him. The reading didn’t take long; the message was one short paragraph. It instructed Tevedes to open the enclosed sealed envelope shortly before making planetfall on Atlas and informed him that the written orders contained therein would self-destruct five minutes after the envelope was opened. The last sentence instructed him to eat the flimsy after reading it. Tevedes and Lytle exchanged another look, then the platoon commander shrugged, folded the sheet, put it in his mouth, and began to chew.

On Enlargement Day, the Marines grumbled a bit about having to remove the chameleoning from their weapons and helmets for the parade, and then chameleoning them again afterward. But it wasn’t serious grumbling; they had to do it anyway to properly inspect the outer surfaces of their weapons and helmets before they made planetfall on Atlas. Kraken Interstellar Starport, Atlas The
Crimson Seas
had a routine docking at Kraken Interstellar, Atlas’s orbital starport, named after the planet’s first president. Kraken Interstellar was pretty standard as second-class starports went; mid-level orbit, bays sufficient for ten starships—provided none of them was larger than Goddard Class cruise ships or a Confederation Navy light cruiser; Kraken couldn’t physically accommodate the largest starships except via shuttle.

Sergeant Ivo Gossner and Lance Corporal Bella Dwan, dressed in clothing from the parcels they received in Commander Obannion’s office, debarked with the rest of the passengers and followed the ship’s activity director to the customs queue. They found customs quite single-minded.

“Anything to declare?” the customs agent asked Gossner.

“Not a thing,” Gossner replied jauntily.

“Are you sure of that?”

Gossner nodded brightly. “I read the guidebook while we were on the
Crimson Seas
, and I don’t have anything on the banned and restricted list that was in the book. I certainly don’t have any agricultural products.” He paused and wrapped a proprietary arm around Dwan’s shoulders. “Neither does my wife,” he added.

Dwan simpered and batted her eyelashes at the customs agent. “We
are
married you know.” She fluttered the fingers of her left hand, displaying the wedding band circling the third finger.

“How long do you expect to stay on Atlas?” The agent didn’t need to be told that they were married; nearly every couple coming to Atlas was newly married.

“Two weeks. Then we have to go back home.”

“Do you have return passage?”

“We have reservations on the
Blue Ocean
.” Gossner waved the return ticket crystal. The customs agent took the crystal, examined it, and made note of the registration number, then grunted and cast an eye at their carry-on bags. “That’s not much luggage for two weeks’ stay.”

“We have two more cases coming from the cargo hold.”

Dwan smiled broadly and said, “I don’t need a lot of luggage. Ivo got a promotion and big raise on his job. I’m going shopping!” She flicked a hand to her face to titter behind.

“Open them up,” the customs agent said, still looking at their carry-ons. Gossner opened the bags while Dwan stood primly to the side, feet together, hands clasped between her breasts, looking more innocent than any Marine who ever served with her could have believed was possible. The customs agent inspected the bags very thoroughly with hands and eyes, and with several biological-detection devices. Then he put them on a conveyer that led them through a swinging door into an unseen area.

“Wh-where is our luggage going?” Dwan asked nervously.

“It’s all right, honey,” Gossner said, putting a reassuring hand on her arm. “Remember what the
Visitor
and Tourist Guide to Atlas
said? Everything has to be irradiated to make sure no contaminants are imported.”

The customs agent nodded approval; his job was a lot easier when tourists had actually read the customs information in the
Guide
.

“Now if you will go through those doors and follow the instructions—” The customs agent pointed to side-by-side doors, one with the universal sign for “male” and the other with the sign for “female.”

“Ivo?” Dwan timidly said.

“It’s all right, dear,” Gossner said, and touched her brow with a soft kiss. “We have to be decontaminated.”

“A-All right. If you say so,” she said softly. They entered their respective decontamination chambers, where they stripped and were given a thorough shower with a sudsing decontamination agent and blown dry with hot air. While they showered, their clothing went into a box for irradiation. Completely decontaminated and redressed, they returned to the customs agent.

“Welcome to Atlas. Enjoy your stay.” The customs agent zapped the appropriate code into their passport logs and looked past them to the next in line. They were through. No one had examined their heads to discover the wigs with the hidden wands, or looked at the pocket mirror in Dwan’s luggage. The shuttle ride planetside was uneventful. Nobody paid any attention to them. Not even the person arriving on Atlas for a third visit, someone who would have had a great deal of interest in them had that person known the real reason for their visit.

Room 1007, New Granum DeLuxe Inn, New Granum, Union of Margelan, Atlas

The New Granum DeLuxe Inn may have rated three stars in the
Visitor and Tourist Guide to Atlas
, but no interstellar hostelery guide gave it more than two. Which meant it was clean, well-enough appointed, and vermin free, but didn’t provide its guests with such amenities as the complimentary baskets of local fruits and beverages that better hotels did, or plush, real-cotton terry robes. Which lacks Gossner and Dwan expected—after all, the Confederation Marine Corps was footing the bill, and the CMC wasn’t about to pay for luxury accommodations for a junior NCO and a junior enlisted woman. Gossner and Dwan poked through their wigs and withdrew the wands, which were in fact on the banned and restricted item list in the
Visitor and Tourist Guide to Atlas
. In seconds, Dwan was waving hers over every object, electronic or otherwise, in the room and Gossner covered the walls, ceiling, and floor with his. The ersatz newlyweds murmured unintelligible words, interspersed with gasps, groans, and occasional high-pitched laughs from Dwan as they made the security check.

“Clear,” Gossner shortly announced.

“Me too,” Dwan said.

They stopped making lover-noises and in a moment the wands were restowed in their wigs. Had they indeed been honeymooners, their room would have been more than adequate: a bath with all the necessary appliances, not in any configuration either of them had ever previously encountered; a large closet sufficient for their clothing; a large bureau with mirror; chairs and a table large enough for room service meals for two; entertainment center; and a queen-size bed. Their cabin on the
Crimson Seas
had had two narrow bunks.

One bed. That could present a problem, though newlyweds sleeping in separate beds might have aroused suspicions.

Bella Dwan was ready. She plopped their luggage onto the middle of the bed, in a line from head to foot.

“That side’s yours,” she told Gossner, “this side’s mine. We’ll muss it up in the morning before housekeeping comes in so it’ll look like we spent the night all over each other.”

“There are easier ways to make the bed look well used,” Gossner said with feigned innocence. She ignored his remark, knowing her virtue was safe; men were too afraid of the Queen of Killers to make any kind of serious sexual advance. For that matter, most men who knew her reputation would back away from the Queen’s advances if they thought they could do so safely.

“I could hardly believe that was you. Going through customs, I mean,” Gossner said, oddly relieved that Dwan ignored his bed remark.

“What, you think I don’t know how to make men think all I am is tits and a cunt?” She laughed at his shocked expression. “Ivo, every woman learns how to do that before she has tits or a ripe cherry, much less any idea of the power it gives her.” She looked away and shook her head. “Some women never realize the power they have.” She looked back at him, hard-eyed, and flexed her hands as though she was fondling a weapon. “I prefer to use power that men understand and fear.”

Gossner gave her a level look, but said nothing. Inside, he was glad they didn’t have any weapons with them; with a weapon in her hands, she was the most frightening person he’d ever met.

“Let’s go sightseeing,” is what he said.

“I’m going to change first.” She disappeared into the water closet.

Pauke Falls, North of New Granum

Ivo Gossner and Bella Dwan, in the recommended water-resistant clothing, boarded a tourist airbus along with a score of other visitors for the trip to Pauke Falls. The airbus pilot tended to the driving while a tour guide kept up a steady patter and answered questions about the natural wonders the airbus flew above. The pilot moved the airbus up and down, side to side, so the passengers could better see whatever the guide was describing. The forty-kilometer trip took nearly half an hour Standard. Well before they reached it, they heard the falls through the airbus’s external audio pickups, and saw its cloud of spray when they were still too distant to see the water. When they first glimpsed the falls the tourists thought they were much closer than they were but although the airbus kept closing on them for several minutes they didn’t seem to get any nearer. That was when the passengers began to realize how high Pauke Falls actually was.

The airbus landed in a parking lot more than half filled with air-and ground buses marked with the names and symbols of a half-dozen hotels and tour companies; there were even a respectable number of private vehicles. The guide led them to an observation platform from which they could see the falls, still two kilometers distant.

Pauke Falls was huge, a kilometer wide and two hundred meters high. The water at the foot of the falls boiled into spray that didn’t begin to dissipate until it was a hundred meters high, and continued to rise higher than the falls. The pool the water emptied into was a very large lake. A broad river rioted south from it, past the observation platform, to a huge lake three or four kilometers farther downstream. The walls of the canyon formed by the river that flowed from the lake at the falls’ foot was studded with observation platforms, most of which held people gaping at the falls or the canyon. Dartboats shot about the downstream lake like a cloud of feeding dragonflies. Even two kilometers away, the roar of the falls was loud enough to make conversation difficult. The thin mist that reached them even on the platform made it clear why water-resistant clothing was recommended for the visit. The guide prattled for a while about the wonder the tourists were watching, and answered all their mostly inane questions. After fifteen minutes she gave them directions to the restaurants, souvenir shops, and nature walks, and finished with an admonition to be back in two hours, or they would miss the airbus back to New Granum and would have to pay another fare on a different bus. Gossner and Dwan joined the crowd heading for the eateries—they didn’t want to do anything to draw attention to themselves. After a light meal, they visited a gift shop where they bought a cased fishing rod and creel, then headed for the most remote nature trail, one that incidentally led to fishing ponds. Away from the tourists, Gossner got out his reader. The guidebook crystal was already inserted, and he examined the map on page 148 through Dwan’s ultraviolet mirror. It showed a spot a hundred meters away, at the outer side of a bend in a branching trail called “lovers’ lane.”