The Peace War

had directed the embobbling of three Mongolian strongholds, had been as tough as her vision of the Peace demanded... but until now she had never been in a watercraft bigger than a canoe.

Was it possible she could be seasick? Every three seconds, the swell rose to within a couple meters of her face, then sank back to reveal scum-covered timbers below the waterline. It had been vaguely pleasant at first, but one thing she'd learned during the last thirty-six hours was that it never ended. She had no doubt she would feel fine just knowing the motion could be stopped at her whim. But short of calling off this charade, there was no way to get away from it.

Della ordered her guts to sleep and her nose to ignore the stench of sardines. She looked up from the waterline to the horizon. She really had a lot to be proud of. In North America — and in Middle California, especially — the Authority's espionage service was an abomination. There had been no threats from this region in many, many years. The Peace kept most of the continent in a state of anarchy. Satellite reconnaissance could spot the smallest agglomeration of power there. Only in the nation states, like Aztlan and New Mexico, did the Directors see any need for spies. Things were very different in the great land ocean that was Central Asia.

But Della was managing. In a matter of days, she had improvised from her Asian experience to come up with something that might work against the threat Avery saw here. She had not simply copied her Mongolian procedures. In North America, the subversives had penetrated — at least in an electronic sense — some of the Authority secrets. Communications for instance: Della's eyes caught on the Authority freighter near the horizon. She could not report directly from her little fishing boat without risking her cover. So she had a laser installed near the waterline, and with it talked to the freighter-which surcrypted the messages and sent them through normal Authority channels to Hamilton Avery and the operations Della was directing for him.

Laughter. One of the fisherman said something in Spanish, something about 'persons much inclined to sleep.' Miguel Rosas had climbed out of the boat's tiny cabin. He smiled wanly at their jokes as he picked his way past the nets. (Those fishermen were a weak point in her cover. They were real, hired for the job. Given time, they would likely figure out whom they were working for. The Authority should have a whole cadre of professionals for jobs like this. Hell, that had been the original purpose in planting her grandparents in San Francisco: The Authority had been worried about the large port so close to the most important enclave. They reasoned that 'furbishers would be the most likely to notice any buildup of military material. If only they had chosen to plant them among Tinkers instead. As it was, the years passed and no threat developed, and the Authority never expanded their counter-underground.)

Della smiled at him, but didn't speak till the Californian was standing beside her. 'How is the boy?'

Rosas frowned. 'Still sleeping. I hope he's okay. He's not in good health, you know.'

Della was not worried. She had doctored the black kid's bread, what the fishermen fed him last night. It wouldn't do the boy any harm, but he should sleep for several more hours. It was important that she and Rosas have a private conversation, and this might be the last natural opportunity for it.

She looked up at him, keeping her expression innocent and friendly. He doesn't look weak. He doesn't look like a man mho would betray his people ... And yet he had. So his motives were very important if they were to manipulate him further. Finally she said, 'We want to thank you for uncovering the lab in La Jolla.'

The undersheriff's face became rigid, and he straightened.

Lu cocked her head quizzically. 'You mean you didn't guess who I am?'

Rosas slumped back against the railing, looked dully over the side. 'I suspected. It was all too pat: our escape, these fellows picking us up. I didn't think you'd be a woman, though.

That's so old-fashioned.' His dark hands clenched the wood till the knuckles shone pale. 'Damn it, lady, you and your men killed Jere — killed one of the two I was here to protect. And then you grabbed all those innocent people at the tournament. Why? Have you gone crazy?'

The man hadn't guessed that the tournament raid was the heart of Avery's operation; the biolab had been secondary, important mainly because it had brought Miguel Rosas to them. They needed hostages, information.

'I'm sorry our attack on the lab killed one of your people, Mr. Rosas. That wasn't our intent.' This was true, though it might give her a welcome leverage of guilt. 'You could have simply told us its location, not insisted on a Judas kiss' identification. You must realize, we couldn't take any chance that what was in the lab might get out... '

Rosas was nodding, almost to himself. That must be it, Lu thought. The man had a pathological hatred of bioscience, far beyond the average person's simple fear. That was what had driven him to betrayal. 'As for the raid on the tournament, we had very good reasons for that, reasons which you will someday understand and support. For now you must trust us, just as the whole world has trusted us these last fifty years, and follow our direction.'

'Direction? The hell you say. I did what I had to do, but that's the end to my cooperation. You can lock me up like the rest.'

'I think not. Your safe return to Middle California is a high priority with us. You and I and Wili will put ashore at Santa Barbara. From there we should be able to get to Red Arrow Farm. We'll be heroes, the only survivors of the infamous La Jolla raid.' She saw the defiance on his face. 'You really have no choice, Miguel Rosas. You have betrayed your friends, your employers, and all the people we arrested at the tournament. If you don't go along, we will let it be known you were behind the raids, that you have been our agent for years.'

'That's a damn lie!' His outburst was clipped short as he realized its irrelevance.