the coding of the subetheric transmission left no doubt that the call came from the Head
of the Service himself. The d’Alemberts and the Bavols adjourned quickly to the
mansion’s coin room to receive their assignments in privacy.
There, seated in upholstered leather chairs around a large table with built-in computer
terminals, they acknowledged receipt of the signal. The decoding device unscrambled the
incoming message and a shape slowly materialized in the air above the center of the
table-the familiar face of Grand Duke Zander von Wilmenhorst, Head of the Service of
the Empire.
The Grand Duke’s most striking feature was that his head was completely shaven, giving
a dramatic effect to the lean, lined face. A closer observer, however, would notice the
brightness in his eyes, a depth of keen intelligence that was restive, ever thinking. The
Head was relentless in his pursuit of the Empire’s enemies; now in his fiftieth year, he
combined his native intellect with long experience, and though comparatively few within
the Empire knew the crucial role he played in its affairs, he was regarded in the highest
echelons as the government’s premier strategist.
The agents were prepared to greet their boss cheerfully, but the grim expression on the
Head’s face made them realize something was seriously amiss. Dispensing with the usual
formalities, Jules asked quickly, “What’s wrong?”
“We’ve been wondering what little game the conspiracy would play next, after their
defeat on Coronation Day,” von Wilmenhorst said. “We had the Service braced for
almost anything, anywhere, and still they’ve managed to surprise us. They’ve launched an
attack against the Service itself using the most diabolical, insidious weapon they could
find. ”
“I almost hate to ask, but what is it?” Yvette said. “You,” the Head replied. As the agents
stared back at him, perplexed, he added, “Or rather, some people impersonating you.”
“How can they?” Vonnie asked. “Nobody knows what we look like.”
“That’s precisely what they’re counting on,” the Head told them. “Fifty-five days ago, the
Service headquarters on Bolshaya received a high priority call that all the local agents
were supposed to gather at a remote location for an important assignment. The chief
officer on Bolshaya logged the call into his records, exactly as he was supposed to, and
assembled his people according to instructions. When we heard nothing from Bolshaya
for several days, we had agents from nearby Rellan go over to investigate. It seems our
personnel on Bolshaya were ambushed and massacred all of them. They were not
inexperienced people; the only reason they walked into the ambush without the slightest
suspicion was because the call came from Agents Wombat and Periwinkle.”
Jules and Yvette exploded with indignation. “We were never anywhere near there!” Jules
exclaimed, and Yvette added, “We’ve been here on DesPlaines for the last six months. ”
“I know all that,” the Head nodded. “Let me continue. Precisely twenty-six days later, on
Blodgett, events repeated themselves. All the agents except one, who was in the hospital
recovering from surgery, were lured to a remote location and slaughtered by two people
claiming to be Wombat and Periwinkle. Then three days ago-exactly twenty-six days
after the massacre on Blodgett-the same thing happened on Arcta.”
“I don’t like having our names taken in vain.” Anyone who knew Jules could have told
from the cold fury in his voice that someone was going to pay heavily.
“And I don’t like the fact that fifty-three good, decent people were senselessly murdered
simply for serving the cause of justice,” the Head told them. His anger was not as visible
as Jules’s, but his voice was equally determined. “I know you’re not involved in this-if you
wanted to betray the Service you could have thought of better and subtler ways. But we
cannot allow this imposture to continue. ”
“I presume you want us to take care of it,” Pias said. The Head paused, a rare trace of
indecision on his face. “That’s what I called to discuss. I’m not completely sure that would
be the right thing to do. As I see it, this whole maneuver is a trap aimed specifically at
Jules and Yvette.” “How can you tell?” Vonnie asked.
“We know the conspiracy has been tapped into our information for some time. They
know a great deal about us, but I don’t think they know absolutely everything. They do
know the agents codenamed Wombat and Periwinkle are the two best we have, and that
there are standing orders for everyone in the field to give them the utmost, unquestioning
cooperation. But I don’t think they know your identities, because that is not generally
known; to the best of my knowledge it’s never been written down or entered in any
records. We thought this would be the safest course of action; it gave you total
anonymity to act as you felt necessary, yet it gave you access to the Service’s resources
when you needed them.
“Lady A wants to destroy your effectiveness, either by handicapping your operations or
by killing you outright. Look at the choices we have open to us:
“We could do nothing at all, in which case they’d probably go on wiping out station after
station. That is unacceptable; too many people have already died because of this
subterfuge.
“Or we could put out the order that anyone identifying themselves as Wombat or
Periwinkle should be shot on sight. That would keep our agents from being duped by the
imposters, but it wouldn’t make your job very easy. If we gave you new codenames,
there’s no guarantee the conspiracy wouldn’t learn them and pull the same trick over
again.
“Or we could take a middle tack by saying that orders from Wombat and Periwinkle need
not be obeyed unquestioningly. We could either circulate your description or make the
local branches more reluctant to give you assistance-but that would hamper your
activities. Any of these choices would end up restricting your effectiveness in some way
that could only benefit the conspiracy.”
“There’s another solution,” Yvette said. “You could send us out to get them. We’re the
only agents who wouldn’t be fooled because we know who the real Wombat and
Periwinkle are.”
The Head sighed. “Yes, that thought occurred to me, too. But that’s exactly what Lady A
wants. Just look at the pattern. Each of the three systems hit so far is about ten parsecs
away from the previous one along a straight line. The events are spaced exactly
twenty-six days apart, and the method is the same in each case. It’s ridiculously easy to
predict where, when, and how they will strike next. They might as well put up a gigantic
sign advertising themselves. And they know that only the real Wombat and Periwinkle
could challenge their impostors without hesitation. They’ll be waiting for you.”
“In a way,” Jules said, “it’s flattering to think they’d go to so much trouble just for us.”
“I could do very nicely without such flattery,” his sister commented. “Particularly when I
think we’re indirectly responsible for the deaths of fifty-three of our fellow agents. If it
weren’t for the system established to help us, they’d still be alive today.”
“There you have it,” von Wilmenhorst said. “I admit to being in a bit of a quandary. I know
what I’d like to do-but I hate playing into that woman’s hands. I’d like your opinions on
this matter; it could affect either your jobs or your lives.”
“In large measure,” Yvette said, “our jobs are our lives. I can’t speak for Jules, but I don’t
want to give in to sneaky blackmail like this.”
“You can speak for me, and very well,” Jules said. “I agree completely. We have to
prove to Lady A and her mokoes that they can’t laugh in our faces. They manipulated us
badly on our last encounter, we can’t let them do that again.”
“But isn’t that exactly what they are doing?” Pias pointed out. “Don’t you think they’re
counting on our pride to make us come straight to them?”
“Pias is right,” the Head said. “I think that’s exactly what they’re banking on. They know
our reactions entirely too well and they’re setting us up.”
“Still,” Yvette said, “as you yourself admitted, what other choice do we have? If we give
in here, they’ll only put pressure on us somewhere else. They’ll push us back and back
until we have no farther to go. If the line is going to be drawn at all, we might as well
draw it now. “Besides,” she added, “they may force the direction we’re going in, but they
can’t always guess how fast or how far we’ll go. Lady A has miscalculated before,
remember. ”
“So have we,” Pias muttered, but the others pretended not to hear him.
The Head talked to them for a little while longer, giving them the pertinent details of the
case. He signed off with the Service toast, “Here’s to tomorrow, fellows and friends. May
we all live to see it!” He acted as though this were just an ordinary assignment, even