Once back in my office, little more than an overlarge closet three meters on a side, I settled myself behind my console and keyed in the codes to call up my in-comms— there were no personal direct-links at the university, or for that matter, anywhere on the continent.
The first message was from the provost—just a message, and no text.
Congratulations on being nominated for a senior fellowship with the Comity Diplomatic Corps. Your continued diligence in seeking outside validation and recognition of your talents, accomplishments, and credentials has not gone unnoticed…
I just looked at the message. The last thing I wanted was a senior fellowship with the CDC. Years back, my service tours had convinced me of the futility of government service. I certainly had not applied for such a fellowship. Had the provost nominated me? Why? Had I been that much of a thorn in his bureaucratic side? It didn’t matter. In the unlikely event I happened to be selected, I’d politely refuse. There were more than enough brilliant junior professors who wanted such empty honors and would be happy to accept.
I moved to the next message.
2
Goodman
The five-story building in New Jerusalem was identified as the Zion Mercantile Exchange. It wasn’t, although there were legitimate trade and commerce offices on the main level. At the end of the east corridor, I stepped through the gate to the lifts, cleared by a minute sample of my true DNA. My destination was on the second level. At the third doorway on the second level, I offered my wrist once more to the DNA-coder.
“Request clearance codes.”
“Kappa seven-eight-nine-six, Josiah three, Walls of Jericho, Hatusa version.”
“John Paul Goodman, cleared.” The endurasteel portal irised open, long enough for me to enter one of the sanctums of the Covenant Intelligence Service.
One of Colonel Truesdale’s bright young men looked up from his console at me. “The colonel will be with you in a few minutes, Operative Goodman.”
I was a senior CIS operative, not just an operative. I didn’t correct him. Instead, I settled into one of the straight-backed chairs to wait.
Fourteen and a half minutes passed before the aide said pleasantly, “You can go hi now, Operative Goodman.”
“Thank you.” I offered a warm smile and walked through the door that opened as I neared and closed behind me.
The inner office looked to have a panoramic view of New Jerusalem through a wide expanse of glass. That was an illusion. Two men awaited me. Colonel Truesdale sat behind a table desk, and a dark-skinned man with gray hair sat in a chair to his left, facing me.
Colonel Truesdale’s eyes were hard and glittering blue. They didn’t match the genial laugh and the warmth of his voice. “Operative Goodman, you’ve heard of Major Ibaio.”
I nodded politely. “Yes, sir.” Who hadn’t, after his exploits in pacifying the Nubian Cluster? Or rooting out the followers of the antiprophet among the Mazarenes? He hadn’t had much to do in the ongoing annexation of the Walden Libracracy. He wouldn’t have been needed. The Waldonians didn’t believe enough in anything to fight that hard.
“Take a seat.”
I sat in the remaining chair.
Major Ibaio’s dark eyes scrutinized me from an even darker face. After a moment, he spoke. “The Comity is undertaking an unusual expedition. They have refitted a former colony supply ship. The Magellan is the largest possible vessel that can fit through a Gate. The AG drives are the most powerful ever installed and have been under construction for the past three years. The shuttles are larger than couriers. The vessel is heavily shielded, and armed with the weaponry of a standard Comity battle cruiser, and it will be part of a scientific expedition.”
A colony vessel with beefed-up drives armed like a battle cruiser for a science expedition? That made no sense. Why were they giving me that kind of mission? What I knew about any science besides weapons and the general basics wouldn’t enabled me to pass for a lab tech, much less a scientist. Or was it a way to get rid of me?
“The Comity government has seldom invested heavily in any research exploration, but it seems more than probable that their scientists have located a planet with alien forerunner technical artifacts—or a renegade Technocrat colony that escaped the Dirty War, then failed.” Ibaio smiled coldly. “You understand the possible value.”
“In thousands of years, no one has found any alien artifacts—not anywhere in the Galaxy. It’s unlikely that any of the renegade Technocrat scientists escaped.”
“Exactly.” Ibaio’s voice was colder than before. “The Comity would not expend such funding if they were not absolutely certain. They may even be seeking the Morning Star.”
The legendary Hammer of Lucifer, the Spear of Iblis? Had they ever even existed? I wasn’t about to ask that question. “I’ll do whatever is required, sir, but I’m not a scientist—”
“Your job is both simple… and very difficult,” interrupted the colonel. He smiled warmly once more. “We don’t expect you to bring back scientific discoveries or artifacts. That would be asking far too much of any operative.”
That didn’t reassure me much.
“What you are to do is to leave an AG signaler that will allow our ships to locate the planet or station or locale independently.”
AG signalers didn’t exactly float in orbit off strange planets. That I knew, but I wouldn’t have recognized one if it had been set before me.
“Needless to say, you cannot carry such aboard the Magellan. That means you’ll have to build it from scratch.”
I was getting a very bad feeling about what the colonel had in mind.
“We don’t intend to confront the Comity directly. That would be… unwise, but it is difficult to monitor an entire planet, even for the D.S.S.” The colonel smiled once more. “You’ll be given an in-depth indoctrination for both your cover and for your mission. Your cover will provide you access to the equipment you need. You will spend the next month in a regime of forced nanite education and indoctrination. By then, you’ll look and act like your cover.”
More surgery and forced nanite education? What stories I’d heard about them hadn’t been good. “How many operatives are you putting through this?”
Truesdale ignored the question. “You will be William Gerald Bond, Comity armorer second class. He has been assigned to the Magellan, but will be late in reporting for cadre training because he is currently finishing a patrol cruise on the Drake. That will allow us time to prepare you. Along with other techs of lower rank, armorer Bond has been under surveillance for some time, and we have his DNA. Because this is a long mission, we will have to alter the medical records at Hamilton base and those carried on board the Magellan. We cannot risk changes to the main databases, but the subroutines should hold unless there is a deep audit. Even so, that will require your escape relatively soon after the ship returns. Any other information you can supply will be most useful as well.”