The Service of the Sword

She tilted her head to the side and sighed. "I guess StateSec officers don't have to worry about curfew?"

"Something like that," he said. "Can I come in?"

She paused and looked at him for a long time then nodded. "Okay."

The fourth-floor flat was surprisingly neat and clean, for all it was small. It was mostly one room with a fold-up bed, a couch, a small table, tridee and tiny kitchen. There was a small bathroom to the side with a shower just visible. There appeared to be no heat and the room was like an icebox.

"Nice," he said. "But not as nice as Nouveau Paris."

"It's a dump," Rachel replied, taking off her coat and pulling down the makings of tea. "What can I do for you as if I don't know?"

"It's . . . not what you think," Mullins said, sitting at the small table. "There are some things you don't know about me."

"Well, you're wearing prole clothing, so apparently one of them is that you're an undercover agent." She put a pot in the warmer and set it on heat.

"Not for StateSec," he said carefully. "I'm a Mantie."

"Sure you are," she said with a chuckle. "And I'm Cordelia Ransom. Pull the other one, it's got bells on."

"I'm serious, Rachel. That's why I wanted to get you out of Peep space. I couldn't be with you here; I'm from the Alliance."

She turned around and looked at him soberly. "You're serious."

"As a heart attack. And I'm in trouble."

"And you brought it to me," she said angrily. "You're a God-damned Manty spy and you've brought your troubles to me?"

"Yes, I did," he replied. "You're the only person I can trust anymore, Rachel. If you want to turn me in, fine. I just ask for a few minute's head start. But I need your help. Please."

"Oh, man," she said, shaking her head. "Why me? That question was rhetorical, buddy." She took the pot of tea out of the heater and poured two cups. "Honey, right?"

"You remembered." He smiled, wrapping his hands around the mug for warmth.

"I have a very good memory," she snapped as she sat down. "I can remember things like that for over four hundred men."

"Oh."

"This is not going to be cheap," she continued. "You had better have money."

"I do, and some materials that might help." He paused for a moment and then shrugged. "But we've got a couple of other problems. We also have a citizen to get out, a defector."

"This general that everyone is so up in arms about?" she asked, taking a sip of her tea.

"Admiral. Yes."

She took another sip and set it down, gripping the bridge of her nose and squeezing. "Oh, Joh

"How bad is it?"

"In case you didn't notice, our club gets a lot of military," she said softly. "It was nearly empty tonight; there has been a general call-up by StateSec. They're all looking for your friend. I don't even know how you made it to the flat."

"I want you to come, too," he said in a rush.

"Not that again!"

"I'm serious. I nearly drank myself to death when I had to leave Nouveau Paris. Please come with me this time; it won't be safe for you here after we're gone."

"We'll talk about it later," she said, patting his hand. "Right now we have to get you and your friends somewhere that StateSec won't find you."

"I'm not sure anywhere is that safe," he replied.

"Where are we going?" John said as they sloshed through another puddle.

They had proceeded to the basement of Rachel's tenement where a metal plate had given access to a series of tu

And very few of which were ever seen by "surface" dwellers, including police.

It was through this gloomy world, lit only by occasional glow-patches and a pale chem-light in Rachel's hand, that they had progressed. Once, in response to an almost u

He had followed her slavishly, and carefully not asked any questions, for nearly an hour. But if his reading of signs and general sense of direction wasn't completely off, they were very near the river. And the police headquarters.

"Not much farther," she whispered. "The one place that no one will bother looking is?"

"Where nobody would be dumb enough to go?" he answered.

"Exactly," she continued, pulling aside another metal plate and glancing around the room beyond. "Specifically, in the basement of the police administration building."

He looked at the room beyond. It appeared to be completely filled with junk. There were old-style monitors, chairs with one wheel gone and piles and piles of manuals. All of it was covered in dust.

"How did you find this place?" he asked.

"I have friends in low places," she replied. "Where are your friends and how do I keep them from killing me when I tap on the door."

"They're over in Southtown." He gave her directions to the flat and shook his head. "Just knock and tell them who you are; secret taps are for amateurs. You'll need this, though."

He pulled what looked like a dangling thread off the prole jacket and licked it. Then he held it up to his mouth and said: "All Clear, Kizke."

"What is that?" she asked, taking the somewhat sodden string.

"Just give it to Charles. He'll compare it to my DNA map. There's a way to fake it, but it's hard and beyond Peep tech. We think. That's what professionals use. Also, we need some back-ups. If anything happens while you are gone, now or later, I'll make a chalk mark on the side of the postal box on the fourteen hundred block of Na Perslyne. And I'll leave a message about where to contact me on the underside of the south bench by the duck pond on Wenceslas Square."

"Okay," she said. "I guess this is real spy stuff?"

"We use the word 'agent,' " he replied with a grin. "And, yeah, the term is 'tradecraft.' Can you remember what I said?"

"Mark on the postal box in the fourteen hundred block of Na Perslyne, south bench, duckpond Wenceslas, Mister Super-spy. But when I come back, if I don't tap like this," and she gave him a demonstration, "kill whoever comes through the door. Sometimes StateSec will mimic an appearance."

"I think StateSec would find it difficult to mimic you," he said with a smile. "Thank you for this, Rachel."

"You're welcome, and you owe me."

"Well, this is a pleasant little love nest," Charles said, ducking through the door.

"I'd say it was nerve-wracking waiting for you to get back," Mullins replied. "But I always figure you're dead anyway."

"Terribly uplifting old boy," Gonzalvez replied. "Glad I feel the same way about you."

"Rachel, we do have to talk," Mullins continued. "I don't get you having this little bolt hole or knowing your way around underground so well. I deal with Peeps and proles all the time; they don't generally find their way around underground by preference."

"I have friends . . ."

"I heard that one," Mullins replied as Gonzalvez subtly shifted to block the exit. "Now tell me the rest."

"Okay," she sighed. "I do have friends. Some of them are in the resistance."

"Friends like we were . . . are . . . friends?" Mullins asked.

"Sort of," she replied, stone-faced. "After you left things got very sour for me on Nouveau Paris; I had to leave in a hurry. 'Friends' got me here and have . . . helped from time to time. I help them from time to time in return."

"Mule?" Charles asked.

"Generally," she replied. "But I'm not really a member of the resistance; just a working girl trying to make her way the best she can."