John Ringo - Against the Tide

“No.” Edmund sighed, turning the bronze cylinder over in his hands. “I’ll take my chances.”

Once the officer had left he twisted the knurled top and slid out the paper inside.

“Eyes Only Edmund Talbot, Joel Travante, Sheida Ghorbani.

“Agent M established contact, Paul Bowman’s harem. Contact Megan Travante, daughter of Joel Travante.”

Edmund laid his head on the desk for a moment and groaned, then looked at the rest of the message.

“Identity positively confirmed by visual recognition and transmission of counter-signs. Subject presented with name ‘Travante’ on a ‘new line’ of materials. Responded with words ‘Paul is very fatherly to us,’ ‘material will be given forensic examination’ and ‘could lead to an inspection .’ Terms, while ambiguous, taken together indicate positive contact. Unable to effect any intelligence transfer in first meeting except warning that Paul has intelligence source in UFS at the highest level. Words to effect: ‘any passage of information up your corporate chain will (subject’s emphasis) get to Paul.’ ‘Your new line will go nowhere (subject’s emphasis) if anyone else is informed.’

“Assume from demeanor subject has further information of similar caliber. Risk to subject if information passed considered high . All communications can be considered monitored. Absent orders will contact subject one week from date of message.

“M”

Edmund looked at the date, looked at his calendar and groaned again. Agent “M,” whoever he was, would contact the “subject” in one more day.

And he’d thought seasickness was bad.

Megan was staring blankly at the distillery apparatus when Shanea walked in the room.

“What are you looking so unhappy about?”

“Shanea, where does Paul keep his Key?” Megan said, then froze. “I didn’t just say that.”

“I can’t believe you had to ask,” Shanea chuckled, happily. “You don’t go down on him enough.”

“What?” Megan snapped. “I… what does that have to do with it?”

“If you did, you’d know, silly,” Shanea replied. “It’s in a pouch up behind his balls. Sort of a slit in the skin. You can feel it sometimes. If you put your hand in the right places,” she added, laughing again.

“Thanks, Shanea,” Megan said, distantly. “I was just curious.” She stuck out her hand and picked up a bottle, handing it to the girl without turning around. “Try this new perfume.”

“Okay, thanks!” Shanea said. “You want me to keep an eye on stuff for a while?”

“No,” Megan replied. “I think… I think I’ll do some -mixing.”

“She’s what ?”

Sheida had never actually seen Joel Travante upset. She didn’t like seeing it now.

“Megan is a member of Paul Bowman’s harem,” Sheida repeated. “Through truly remarkable coincidence, your agent has made contact with her. He is going to make a second contact, and attempt to get more intel from her, two days from now.”

“Bloody hell,” Joel said, visibly forcing himself to be calm. “Oh, God damnit !” And failing.

“She’s alive ,” Sheida said, brutally. “Concentrate on that fact. What she is going through, women have survived for countless generations. And she already got out one bit of intel. She said that any communication that wasn’t to you or Edmund, for some reason, was going to be intercepted. We have a very high-level leak somewhere.”

“I know Megan,” Joel growled. “She’s not going to just spread her legs and smile. She’s going to try to find a way to get back at Paul. I don’t trust her as a source, mainly because she will take risks and get burned. Also known as killed or more likely Changed!”

“Do you want me to try to get to your agent?” Sheida asked. “Tell him not to make contact? To abort the mission?”

Joel looked at her projection and closed his eyes, hard.

“No,” he said after a moment. “If Paul has let slip that there’s a high-level source, he’s telling her other things. Things we need to know.”

“I’m not so sure,” Sheida said. “I mean, yes, she’s getting the information. But getting it out is another thing. She’s bound to be closely monitored in any communications. I don’t see how she could get information out that couldn’t be detected. Wouldn’t be detected. Under the circumstances I’d tell any agent to blow off the contact, much less contact with Megan. At least until we could figure out a better means of communication.”

“Martin is good,” Joel said. “A weasel, but a good weasel. And I hold his strings. Megan… I don’t know. I don’t know her anymore, not after four years of… that . Could she get something out? Maybe. Coded somehow, possibly. And I don’t see any way to abort the contact in time, not and keep Martin operable. There aren’t any hard methods that will work fast enough. No time.”

“So we go with it?” Sheida asked.

“For now we have to,” Joel replied. “ Damnit! ”

To say that Megan was conflicted would be the understatement of the millennia.

She had long ago gotten over wanting to kill Paul. About the time she had fallen in love with him. But she had taken it upon herself as her duty, as soon as she could do it and know that she could seize his Key. With the Key she had a way out, for herself and the other girls. With the Key she could summon a personal protection field and be safe at last . With the Key… she could survive.

But now… she had a contact. Would it be better to stay as an agent in place? Could she even get any information out? Paul didn’t monitor the harem, she knew that now after blurting out the question she had asked of Shanea. If there was even a dumb monitoring system it would have picked up on that question and at the very least she would be being questioned. But any communication was going to be scanned and analyzed, even Paul wasn’t that stupid. And she knew where that would lead. To a life as an automaton like Amber. If she was lucky. Or unlucky. More conflict.

She had brought two urns of wine and a beautiful glass, with a long stem of a light shade of pink and a lovely clear crystal bowl. One of the urns was white, one of the urns red. Life, and try to get out the information? Or death, and take her chances? It might not work. If it didn’t, she hoped that Paul would at least allow her a clean death.

She was halfway tempted to take the first sip herself.

“You seem troubled,” Paul said as she rearranged her scanty clothing.

“Too much on my plate I think,” she said, smiling. “The harem was very boring when I arrived. Now it seems I don’t have enough hours in the day for all the things I’m working on.”

“Maybe you should delegate,” Paul said, grinning at her. She had suggested it to him often enough.

“Maybe I should,” Megan said, picking up the glass and reaching for the urns. Life. Or death? Her hand hovered and she picked up an urn, filling the glass.

“Troubled, Major Herrick?”

Herzer looked over at the skipper, turned around and leaned back against the railing.

“Just the same troubles as the rest of the crew,” Herzer admitted with a grin. “I wish I knew where we were. I wish I knew what we were doing. And I wish I knew what we were going to face, wherever we are going.”

“Well, I’ve got at least half of that,” the skipper admitted with a chuckle. She leaned her forearms on the railing and looked out at the passing ocean.