He glanced around the room a moment; then, seeing Yvette sitting in her corner, he
came to her table and sat down.
“I understand the dinner for two is better than the a la carte,” he said, delivering the
pre-arranged recognition signal.
“It ought to be; it costs more,” Yvette replied with the countersign. Then, identities
established, she continued, “I’ve acquired something of a reputation in here for dining
alone; it wouldn’t be wise to break character now. There’s a bar called the Vortex two
blocks away. I’ll meet you there in an hour, if it’s convenient.”
For-tier gave a slight nod, then stood up to play out his part for the rest of the caf‚’s
patrons. “Khorosho, be that way,” he said, loudly enough for all to hear. “It’ll be a cold
day in hell before I waste my time on you again.”
An hour later they met at the bar under more relaxed circumstances. “How did I do back
there?” Fortier asked her. “A bit melodramatic, perhaps, but it served its purpose,”
Yvette smiled back.
“What’s the assignment this time?”
Briefly, Yvette explained about the problem of Karla Jost and the apparent connection
between Gastonia and the pirates. Fortier listened and nodded slowly. “There have been
some high-level recruits coming into the upper echelons without working their way
through the ranks. I thought something was suspicious but there wasn’t any way to hook
myself into them. Now that you mention this, though, it all starts to make sense.”
Yvette then went on to explain that she and her partner had been assigned to work on
the case with Fortier from the pirate end of the operation, and that they were behind the
Paradise. The commander whistled. “You don’t do things by halves, do you?”
“My partner has a … shall we say, flair? At any rate, you’ll have to convince your boss to
tackle it again.”
“After losing a whole ship that badly, and not even knowing how it was done? He’s given
up on it, at least for now. The possible reward isn’t worth the sacrifice.”
“That’s where I come in. As Mila Farese, I was in charge of keeping all the customers
happy-and I was the owner’s mistress. I know the defenses of the ship backward and
forward. The situation as you will explain it to your boss is that my boyfriend and I have
had a colossal fight, and I left the ship. You found me here on Bromberg, and I was only
too happy to get revenge-as long as I get a substantial enough cut. And of course, you’ll
have to bring me back to the base with you so I can discuss it with him personally. Think
you can manage that’?”
Fortier pondered. “The Paradise is a rich enough prize that he might just consider it worth
another go if he had inside knowledge. Yes, I think he’ll bite. I can give him a subcom call
tomorrow and argue the case. Where can I reach you?”
Yvette gave him the name of her hotel, and they completed the arrangements for
communicating the next day. With business finished, Yvette leaned back in her stool and
attempted to satisfy some personal curiosity. “You’ve got a high-grav body,” she said,
“and the name Fortier sounds definitely DesPlainian. Are you?”
Fortier shook his head. “My grandfather was, and all his line before him, but he left
DesPlaines for a Navy career. He married a woman from Soleban, a normal grav world,
and settled there. Both my father and I also followed naval careers-but by the time the
genes got down to me, all I’ve got is the short, stubby body and the thick bones. There
are plenty of times I wish I did have the speed and the strength, but … no, it wasn’t to
be. You, I take it, are a true DesPlainian. What’s your name?”
Yvette hesitated for just an instant. Her deeply engrained instincts as a secret agent told
her not to give her real name to anyone, not even an ally; she was too high-ranking a
weapon in SOTE’s arsenal to give her identity lightly. If Fortier were captured and
subjected to nitrobarb, her cover would be blown-and possibly even the cover for the
entire Circus. She thought of giving her code name, Periwinkle, but that was a SOTE
code name, and would be meaningless to a Naval Intelligence officer. “For now,” she
said, “why not just call me Mila Farese? That way you won’t have to worry about
conflicting identities.”
As a secret agent himself, Fortier nodded and gave her a quiet smile. “Khorosho. Along
those same lines, you’d best forget the name Fortier. The pirates know me as
Rocheville. And I’d better be going now-I’ve been away from the others in my group too
long as it is. I’ll be in touch with you tomorrow with the results of my call.” The two
agents shook hands and Fortier left the bar. Yvette waited fifteen minutes to avoid having
it look as though they were together, then returned to her hotel, pleased with the
outcome of the night’s work.
Fortier called her the next day at midafternoon to tell her that he’d arranged for her to be
taken back to their base for a meeting with his boss, Admiral Shen Tzu of the “alternate
navy,” as Shen was fond of calling his pirate band. Shen was at least willing to discuss
the possibility of another raid on the Paradise, and was looking forward to the
acquaintance of the beautiful woman Fortier had described to him.
Yvette met Fortier and the other pirates the next day at the spaceport, and was taken
aboard their ship-a small unarmed personal yacht that could hardly be suspected of
being a pirate’s vessel. The pirates did not bring their loot personally down to the planet;
they had it waiting in a ship orbiting this sun far beyond the path of its outermost planet,
and prospective buyers were ferried out for inspection. The buyers, many of whom were
otherwise legitimate businessmen, could then bring the contraband in as part of their
honest import trade, and no one would be the wiser.
The pirates, having concluded their business dealings, were ready to return to base. Out
in deep space they and Yvette transferred to the larger ship and set out quickly for the
uncharted pirate world.
“It’s a jungle planet that doesn’t seem to be on any of the charts,” Fortier explained to her
as they traveled. “They’ve got the base and the ships hidden away just in case the
Empire happens to stumble across it-but there’s been no problem so far.” He shook his
head. “Hundreds of ships-some of them almost destroyer size-and over twenty thousand
people to man them. Even a large pirate organization would only need five or ten ships at
the most. They’s why I told the Navy to hold off their mop-up operations; this base must
be part of some larger plan. I’ve tried to find out more about it, but apart from some
rumors about other similar bases elsewhere, I haven’t come up with anything definite.”
He looked at her with a forlorn smile. “Maybe you’ll have more luck than I did, coming at
it from a different angle.”
It took them three days at top speed to travel from Bromberg to the pirate planet. Yvette
was never allowed in the control room, so she did not learn the world’s location-but she
was sure that was unnecessary. Fortier had probably learned the coordinates long ago
and forwarded the information to the Navy. The information she needed was much more
subtle and far more important.
Immediately after landing, Fortier escorted her to Admiral Shen’s office. Yvette decided it
would be perfectly within Mila Farese’s character to gawk at the decadence of the
Mongol tent office and at the enormous size of the man inhabiting it. The only person
she’d ever met who was bigger had been Marchioness Gindri of the gambling moon
Vesa-a pale, indulgent slug with only a passing resemblance to humanity. Admiral Shen,
however, for all his large bulk, was not soft; there was a cold, hard set mouth above his
multiple chins. Yvette had few doubts about this man’s ability to handle his obviously high
position within the conspiracy.
Shen’s eyes were traveling approvingly up and down Yvette’s body. “Well, Rocheville,”
he said to Fortier in a deep, gravelly voice, “what morsel have you brought me this time?”
“Her name is Mila Farese, and she claims to have the key to the Paradise’s defense.”
Shen stopped his ogling and looked instead straight into Yvette’s eyes. “Is this true?” he
asked.
“You bet it is.” Yvette worked up a good show of righteous indignation. “That little weasel
has two-timed me for the last time. I’ll show him he can’t. . .”
“Excuse me,” Shen interrupted, “but which little two-timing weasel are we talking about?”
“Brian Sangers, the tonkarat who runs the Paradise. I was his top lady until he started