raid would be called off. In that event, Jules said, the SOTE people could return to
Floreata with both his thanks and his apologies for bringing them on a futile mission.
Colonel Reede and her agents were destined to spend an uncomfortable half a day in
space armor, keyed up for a battle that would never happen. For months afterward
some of them would be griping about the experience, never knowing that they’d been
taken well out of harm’s way. Jules had at least made sure they’d still be alive months
later to do the griping.
With all the agents out on Jules’s errand, there were only a couple of civilian clerks left to
mind the office. Yvette walked in with body padding and heavy makeup as a disguise and
identified herself as Agent Periwinkle. The clerks, while not trained agents, knew of that
codename and were dutifully obedient. Yvette explained that she would be coordinating
activities on the upcoming raid, and all communications were to be channeled through
her. She brought Pias in and assigned him to handle all incoming calls.
Precisely on schedule, a call came in from “Agent Wombat” demanding to speak to
Colonel Reede on a matter of high priority. Pias immediately put the call through to
Yvette, who had commandeered the colonel’s office. “This is Colonel Reede,” Yvette
said.
“This is Agent Wombat,” came a voice that she knew did not belong to Jules.
“What can I do for you?” she asked, putting the proper amount of reverence in her voice.
The impostor went on to discuss plans for an attack against a criminal hideout every bit
as phony as the rebel base Jules had invented. The coordinates he gave placed it, as
they had feared, right in the middle of a large, unpopulated swamp. Yvette agreed to
rendezvous there with all twelve of her people in two hours. The pseudoWombat rang off
without even so much as a thank-you.
Well, Yvette thought, Julie has lots of flaws, but at least he’s more polite than that.
Within seconds she was in contact with Jules and Vonnie, filling them in on the details of
the ambush. With that out of the way, Yvette and Pias departed, thanking the clerical
staff for their help. The SOTE personnel never knew that a tragedy had just been
averted.
Throughout history, every city in every civilization has had its dropouts, its losers, its
hopelessly outcast. The cities of Floreata were no exception. Immediately after learning
the number of agents stationed on this world, Jules and Yvonne d’Alembert had scoured
the bars and slums looking for people willing to participate in their masquerade. It did not
take them very long at all. It was amazing how many people were willing to play cops
and robbers, no questions asked, for a hundred rubles. The agents picked ten of the
cleanest they could find, who with themselves would round out the dozen.
There was barely time to arrange the transportation and fly all the phony agents to the
designated spot in time for the rendezvous. Jules and Vonnie had their “team” assemble
in the swamp just north of a clearing where the pseudo-Wombat had said the enemy was
located. The only sign of habitation was a small plastifoam but at the southwest corner of
the clearing-hardly a job that would have required twelve agents in any case, and
certainly not one that the real Wombat would have needed help on.
The d’Alemberts kept their group together and waited, swatting at the stinging insects
and battling the heavy swamp stench. The ambushers were not likely to show
themselves until they knew their instructions had been carried out; they knew the real
Wombat and Periwinkle had probably been alerted to their tactics by now, and they
would not want to make any costly mistakes.
They were not kept waiting long. A small copier appeared overhead, and the
pseudo-Wombat’s voice came down to Jules and Vonnie’s com unit. “Glad to see you
followed instructions. I want you to move in and capture the gang hiding out in that hut.
Stunners only-I want them alive for questioning. My partner and I will stay up here and
survey the scene, in case any of them break through your lines.”
“The hut’s probably booby-trapped,” Jules said, and Vonnie nodded agreement. Jules
turned to their ten “confederates. ”
“You’ve served your purpose here,” he told the people. “I want you to sneak off now and
hide yourselves in the swamp. You can go anywhere except into that clearing, and don’t
go anywhere near that hut. There may be some shooting, but it won’t be aimed at you.
As soon as everything’s settled, you can reassemble and take the copiers back to the
city. Thanks for your help.”
The people dispersed as they were instructed, and moments later an angry call came
down from the copier. “What’s the matter with you? I told you to send your team into the
hut, not away from it!’
“I’m operating under a different set of orders,” Jules replied calmly.
“You’re not Colonel Reede,” the voice on the com unit accused.
“And you’re not Wombat, either,” Jules said. “I am.” As he spoke, he took careful aim at
the copier with his blaster and fired, hoping to knock out its engine. The copier was up at
the extreme range of his blaster, and the shot-though perfectly centered-did no effective
damage. The copier’s occupants, realizing they were in an all-out war, immediately fired
back at the two remaining figures on the ground. The craft was more heavily armed than
the agents, and there was nothing ineffective about the blaster beams that came sizzling
downward. Jules and Vonnie had to leap for cover into the dense vegetation as the
deadly rays scorched the damp ground where they’d been standing instants before.
The copier hovered above the scene, just out of handgun range, pouring energy at a
relentless intensity into the swamp where the agents had disappeared. Jules and Vonnie
were not given the chance to stand and think of any cogent response to the threat. They
could only move and react, trusting to their training and quick reflexes to keep them alive.
In drier terrain, the intense heat from the enemy’s blasters would undoubtedly have
started a forest fire, adding to the danger and confusion. The trees here were so damp
that they were not about to catch fire. They sizzled under the copter’s beams, emitting
the powerful stench of smoldering vegetation as well as clouds of smoke and steam that
helped conceal the d’Alemberts’ escape.
When this initial assault failed to achieve its objective, the killers in the copier decided on
a new and subtler tactic. Laying down a continuous line of blaster fire, they began moving
it slowly inward toward the clearing. To the d’Alemberts, the strategy was clear: The
enemy was sweeping them toward the clearing and the plastifoam hut, where they’d be
perfect targets. Moving away from the clearing meant running directly into the blaster
beams. They had no choice but to be pushed the way the enemy wanted them to go.
Fighting against the vines that clung and tried to hold them back, they were herded closer
to the clearing.
The agents did have a choice, however, about how fast they moved in that direction. The
copter’s passengers were taking their time about moving their sweep inward, being
careful not to miss any spot where the fugitives might hide or break out of the pattern.
Jules realized that if, instead of moving grudgingly toward the clearing, he and Vonnie ran
through it at full speed, they might break through to the other side before the copier could
re-aim.
He communicated his idea to his wife in a series of breathy orders as they ran, and she
gasped her agreement. Running at top DesPlainian speed hampered by the damp
springy ground and the sticky vines, they raced ahead of the blaster fire, hoping to make
it through the clearing and into the underbrush beyond, where they could separate and
make it harder for their foes to maneuver them.
They made it halfway through the clearing before the enemy could react. Jules had to
admit that the conspiracy had picked top marksmen for this assignment; their reflexes
were nearly as fast as the d’Alemberts’. Before the real SOTE agents could make it all
the way across the clearing, they found that the wall of blaster fire had shifted and was
now in front of them. Only their own lightning reflexes enabled them to stop in time to
avoid running directly into it. Vonnie nearly fell trying to execute such an abrupt change of
direction, and Jules reached out to steady her and pull her away.
The curtain of blazing energy curved about them, constricting their movements once
more. They could not run back into the swamp from which they’d come, nor could they
move out ahead. Their only option was toward the hut. Now that they were in the open,