The Alliance (22 page)

The Federation had sprung a high level leak.

It was the only logical explanation for Jack’s success in either turning or exposing every agent. The man at her side would be a good source. He could ignore Federation procedure and scan all the files, identifying the agents and passing the information to Jack, probably not directly. Additionally, he’d been here through the final days of the Papacy, and his move to save her had surprised everyone. The Alliance had shown their skill in turning high-level personnel before. This could be another example.

Rachael gnawed her lower lip.

“We’re there.” The ambassador broke his silence. “I assume you’ll go alone to this meeting.”

“Y-yes.” She hadn’t considered it yet, but it felt right.

“Then we’ll make this the formal handover. Congratulations, Madame Ambassador. Good Luck. I envy you the challenge. Most postings are boring. This one will be anything but.” He stepped out of the vehicle and offered her his hand.

“Thank you.” Rachael alighted and shook his hand. “I hope I’m up to it.”

“If you didn’t have the confidence of the Federation, you wouldn’t be here, and it wasn’t built on failure.”

It was the catch cry of the organization. She’d heard it personally at least a thousand times. It claimed omniscience for an entity spread across hundreds of worlds and based on a planet whose reflected light would take millennia to reach this planet. Once, it filled her with pride at being part of it. Now, she no longer felt sure.

Her doubts made her angry, and she unconsciously squared her shoulders. She’d accepted this responsibility willingly. It was her choice and hers alone. Let others lean on catch cries, she’d come into this with her eyes open. “I’ll let you attend to your packing.” She was in charge now. “Take as long as you want. I’ll have my things sent to the guest suite. I’m going to walk around the market and get the feel of things before I meet him again.”

“A wise move.” Her predecessor smiled. “Don’t bother with the guest suite. I had plenty of warning. My attaché moved the last of my things while we were away. I’ll make my farewells and be gone when you return. Once again, Good Luck.” He thrust out his hand.

“Thank you.” She shook hands again and watched him depart, standing alone in the sunlight until the doors closed behind him, before turning to the bustle of the Market Square. She had much to learn.

Her first lesson came as she reached the market. Everyone recognized her. Children smiled shyly, adults nodded their approval and called greetings.

“I saw him hurrying,” one oldster chuckled. “I can now see why.” He glanced over his shoulder and nodded to a hidden watcher. “My granddaughter has something for you.”

A young girl, about eight years old and hurriedly dressed in her best clothes, curtseyed and presented her with a posy. Rachael squatted down to bring herself to the child’s height and spoke with her for several minutes, casually straightening the blouse where it had caught in the waistband and tucking errant curls into an askew headband. She had nieces the same age and it came naturally. The smiles around her grew, triggering a thoughtful reaction in Rachael’s mind. She was copying Jack’s treatment of the child, jumping through a hoop he’d shown her. It galled her, but she continued until she sensed the child’s restlessness and stood up. The child curtseyed again and fled back to the anonymity of the crowd, surrendering to renewed self-consciousness once she lost the focus of Rachael’s interest.

Another lesson.

One of the Elite approached, a former priest by the look of his hair, the tonsure not completely grown out. “Greetings, Madame Ambassador. Your return has brought joy to many. We need proven friends when facing so many challenges.” He wore the plain kilt and matching jacket with pride. The Pontiff had banned the traditional dress of the Elite, but she’d seen at least a score wearing it since her return. It was quite attractive.

“Thank you. The Federation stands ready to help wherever it can.”

A shadow of disapproval, quickly gone, greeted her words, but he bowed low. “My greeting was a personal one. I saw your courage when I served the Pontiff.”

Rachael looked at his face again and recognized the priest/scribe who’d freed her from the guardroom. “I am so sorry,” she said, stepping close and holding out her hand. “I didn’t recognize you.”

“You only saw me once and the circumstances were difficult.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I am your devoted servant.”

Rachael sensed more than a polite phrase. “You are not here by accident.”

“He thought you might find a guide useful.”

“A guide or a guard?”

“You have no need of a guard here. The commoners revere your courage, as do we of the Elite. My role is to answer your questions as truthfully as I can. He would have nothing hidden from you.”

“Does that instruction extend to everyone?” It was a futile question, but she could think of nothing else to ask.

“No one fears his wrath. They will answer as they choose.” The Elite had read her meaning better. “All honor your faithfulness and condemn the Federation’s tardiness in coming to your aid. They will judge whether you ask on the Federation’s behalf and answer accordingly.”

“Will you make the same judgment?”

“I am instructed not to.”

“You haven’t answered my question.” Priests were the masters of sophistry. She could afford no confusion.

“I fear the responsibility he would have us accept for our destiny. Our world has no tradition of self-determination. It will take time to create the need to do so, and we will be vulnerable. The rapaciousness of the Federation is well known, and he alone will stand in their way. He believes you will aid us, but, much as I revere your courage, I do not. Yet, I would not bar your participation, nor do less than my best to persuade you. Therefore I must judge each occasion and respect his wishes where I can.”

It was a long speech. An honest one as well. She was on trial here. “I think we should walk and I will ask only questions that will not cause you concern.”

He nodded and fell in beside Rachael as she continued toward the market.

Now that her field days had ended, she’d thought herself suited to the role of diplomat, but it seemed she was mistaken. Too many loyalties vied for recognition, swaying her, this way and that. Jack’s efforts were admirable, the priest’s doubts understandable, the Federation’s role questionable. She could rattle off all the claimed advantages of joining the Federation and remain unconvinced it was best for these people. The real world was too complex for simple answers.

Yet, her feet carried her inexorably toward a meeting where she would declare herself the servant of the Federation and bind herself to its loyalties.

They stopped at a stall displaying carved wooden figures. She saw a dozen images of her, even one in Federation uniform. They made her beautiful, strong, and vibrant. She found it very flattering. At the back of the stall sat several examples of her face, carved in half profile on half of a flat board shaped like a trapezium with curious notches on the sides. She leaned closer, about to ask a question, when a growing murmur in the crowd behind turned her.

“He comes,” someone called and a path opened to allow him through.

A fitted shirt in white silk, a midnight blue taffeta kilt and vest, knee-high white socks and brightly polished soft black shoes, an outfit that could have looked effeminate on a lesser man. On Jack, it made him a king. Rachael unconsciously drew breath and straightened. Even in heels, her eyes were only just level with his.

“Greetings, Rachael. I bid you welcome and name you Feodar Friend.” He made it formal, his words carrying to trigger a wave of murmured approval.

“Greetings, Mister President. I would present my credentials.”

“You are welcome in whatever guise you choose, but I will accept them gladly and name you a personal friend as well.”

Rachael covered the distance between them and took her credentials from her shoulder bag. “Here are my credentials as ambassador appointed by the Federation to Feodar’s World.”

“They are accepted.” He took the papers, gave them a courtesy glance, and passed them to a functionary who’d appeared at his shoulder. “Take my hand. I’ve begged a table outside the inn. We can sit and take refreshment.” He extended his right hand and Rachael rested her fingers in his palm.

His fingers closed around them gently and he turned to lead the way, her hand held just below shoulder height in an overt display of friendship.

The crowd fell back. Turning away now the show had ended, granting them privacy in a show of genuine affection.

“You’re looking well.” He seated her at an open-air table separated from the rest and shaded by a white canvas umbrella. They sat alone in the midst of a crowd.

“Thank you. I could say the same.” The wooden swivel chair was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, polished until it gleamed, while the table was its match. Her fingers tested the satin of its surface without conscious volition.

“They built these for my use,” he said. “I find the inn convenient. It allows everyone access without protocol.”

Rachael turned to consider the building. It was new, built against the inner side of the wall sometime in the last twelve months with stones taken from the demolished section. Two stories with a roof garden at this end, its forecourt was crowded with relaxed laughing groups.

“It must get noisy at night.”

He smiled. “I stay up late.”

She had to admire the simplicity of his arrangements. There could be twenty clandestine agents in the crowd and no one would be the wiser. He’d made monitoring his contacts impossible by the simple expedient of swamping any attempt at surveillance. She could see a dozen Federation personnel from where she sat, all part of larger indigenous groups. Any of them could be passing information to their contacts.

They watched the innkeeper approach and Jack spoke softly, his words private. “Watch out for the cider. They bring it in by schooner and it’s got a kick like a mule. They serve a house white that’s close to a late harvest Riesling.”

“It sounds perfect to me.” She matched his tone.

The innkeeper took their order and returned with two tall chilled glasses and an insulated carafe. “I put in refrigeration when I built the place,” he explained, as he filled her glass with white wine. “Solar powered. The cold drinks bring the customers.”

Rachael sipped her wine. Jack’s description was accurate. “Perfect,” she said. The innkeeper beamed as he poured a second glass for Jack.

“There’s plenty more where it came from. Enjoy.” He backed up a couple of steps and then turned away.

Rachael watched him thread his way through the crowd, buying time before she turned back to Jack. The adroitness of his switches from formality to informality intensified her nervousness. It felt like trying to capture quicksilver with her fingers.

“I’d forgotten how beautiful you are.” The admission turned her sharply and she faced him as he raised his glass in a toast. “Here’s to the Federation’s newest ambassador. May her first posting be crowned with success.”

“To your Presidency,” she responded. “Already a success.”

They touched glasses and drank deeply as guarantees of their sincerity.

“I miss sitting with someone merely to enjoy their company.” His tone sounded musing. “It’s nice. Having you here makes the rest worth it.”

He had to be lying, but Rachael couldn’t quite still the rush of pleasure his words triggered. This man was good. She would have to be very careful. “Thank you, Mister President. You do me great honor.”
Keep it formal, girl,
her mind warned.
Don’t let him seduce you.
Her body reacted to the possibility and she had to force herself to sit still. This was worse than undercover work. There it was simply a matter of retaining one loyalty while pretending another. Here opposing loyalties struggled constantly for supremacy.
Damn.

Jack’s chuckle surprised her and she shot him a look of inquiry.

“The fool behind you almost poured his cider down the jacket of the man next to him.”

Rachael turned, but the incident had ended. A man just sat clumsily at a crowded table. This wasn’t fair. Jack felt relaxed enough for nearby antics to amuse him while she struggled to remain calm.

“That’s not very flattering, Mister President,” she said. “You use pretty words to distract me and look elsewhere for amusement.”

“I stand rebuked.” Mischief flared in his eyes. “From this moment you have my undivided attention, but there’s a price.”

“Oh?”

“Call me Jack. My title defines my role, not me.”

Rachael sensed the trap. Discard the constant reminder of their roles and her vulnerability to him as a man increased. He had nothing to lose, but she did. Yet, insist on formality and she branded herself incompetent. Her predecessor had named Jack a skillful negotiator and this proved he was right.
Damn, Damn, Damn.

Rachel bought time by raising her glass and draining it. The wine caressed her palate and ignited a glow further down. Its sweetness disguised the high alcohol content.

“This wine is very deceptive…” she forced herself to concede gracefully, “…Jack.”