from which to select meals, was a real treat. Sometimes, the food in small places like this was even prepared by humans with their own special recipes, mostly Warden exiles or those with recipes passed down from exiles and pioneers.
“Looks expensive,” Ching said dubiously. “Are you sure we can afford this?”
“Probably not, but what the hell,” I responded, picking a small two-person table in the back and sitting down. The place was almost empty, although a few more people drifted in as we sat A human waitress arrived from the back and handed us small menus. There weren’t
Frankly, I was surprised at the suggestion, considering our obvious youth. The wine arrived and was poured from a small wooden flask. I picked mine up, looked at Ching, and smiled. “Ever had alcohol before?”
“No,” she admitted, “but I’ve always been curious about it.”
“Well, you’ll know why you haven’t. Try it.” I sipped mine, and she drank hers as if it were a glass of water, then made a curious face. “It tastes—funny.”
It was actually a very good wine, considering I had no idea what it was fermented from, that tasted like a high-class white from the civilized worlds. “You don’t like it?”
“No—I mean, yes. It’s just—different.” The waitress was soon back to take our order, and we gave it and relaxed. It occurred to me that either the wine or something in the food might contain a drug, but that didn’t worry me. I expected it.
I looked over at Ching, who was already looking a little glassy-eyed and just smiling and staring at me. She was small and alcohol was new to her and would hit her. She sighed, “I feel real good. Relaxed.” She reached for the flask, poured more wine, and drank it fairly quickly. I was still sipping my first glass, of course, feeling fairly human and normal for the first time since I woke up on that prison ship.
Whoever this Opposition was, they were a most civilized underground. While whatever it was, was somewhere in the meal, they let us finish it before our consciousness just sort of faded out without either of us even noticing. Half expecting it, I could have established mental defenses to block the effects—but that would have defeated the whole plan anyway.
I awoke in a smelly tunnel, with several dark forms hovering near me. The place smelled really cruddy, like raw sewage, and it took no brains at all to figure out that I was somewhere down in the drainage system under the city.
Whatever they used was no more than a light hypnotic; I could break it fairly easily, but that wasn’t something Tarin Bul was supposed to be able to do, and so I simply rearranged my mind-set while keeping myself under at about the same level as the drug or whatever—but with autohypnosis replacing the substance. If agents could be subdued by such simple chemical means there’d be no use breeding them and training them so extensively.
I could not quite make out the dark shapes, even though they were very close. Either they wore some all- encompassing black hooded garments or they were using some sort of disrupter field.
“He wakes to level one,” a woman’s voice said.
“It is time, then,” another—a gruff man’s voice—responded. “Here—let me check.” He kneeled down very close to me, and a black, ghostly arm and hand opened one of my eyes, checked my pulse, and did other routine checks. He got back up, seeming satisfied. “It’s okay, Sister 657, you want to take him?”
“Tarin Bul—do you hear us?” the woman’s voice asked softly.
“Yes,” I responded dully.
“You understand that this is your point of no return? That you may tell us now to restore you and nothing more will ever be said nor will you hear from us again? But, if you continue, you are committed to us, and should you compromise or betray the Opposition you will forfeit your life.”
“I understand,” I told them. “I did not come here to turn away.”
They seemed to like that. “Very well,” Sister 657 said, “then rise and follow us.”
I did as instructed, thankfully noting that I had been on a dry wooden platform and not in that gunk below. We were, in fact, walking on catwalks over the river of sludge, somewhere beneath Rochande in a maze even those who worked in it would need a map to negotiate. Not these folks, though; they knew just where they were going. Despite the twists and turns, I was pretty sure I could get back to where we started, but that knowledge did me no good. I had no assurance that that starting spot was anywhere near the cafe, since I had no idea how long I’d been out.
Finally we made a turn and walked over a temporary catwalk maybe three meters long. It led to an opening in the tunnel wall beyond which was a dimly lit room full of maintenance equipment. Several more dark shapes were in evidence, perhaps a dozen in all including my captors, which was a good thing. With all the ropes and probes and cables and patch can about, there wouldn’t be room in the place for many more.
They sat me down on a crate in front of them, whereupon I relaxed. The stuff they gave me would be out of my system by now anyway, and they’d be the first to realize that.
Sister 657 seemed to be the leader. Nice touch, that, just the camaraderie title and a simple number. The odds were that her number made her very high up indeed—I assumed, correctly as it turned out, that the numbers referred to cell and city and only one to the individual’s within the cell.
“Behold a possible brother,” Sister 657 intoned. I hoped I wasn’t in for a night of silly mumbo-jumbo and secret lodge stuff. “We give him the number 6137. He is awake, alert, and open to questions.”
“Brother—why do you want to oppose the government?” a woman in the back asked me.
“It’s pretty dull,” I responded, which got a few chuckles.
“Brother—why do you wish to join us?” another woman asked.
Some whispers around, as if I’d said something I shouldn’t, but I intended to be blunt. What little I could pick out seemed to concern how cocksure and self-confident I was for one so young.
“He makes a good point,” Sister 657 broke in, defusing the whispers. “We have told him nothing of ourselves. Perhaps we should before going any further.” She turned to me. “Brother 6137, we don’t bother with oaths, handshakes, or ceremonies. That’s for the superstitious masses. However, I should tell you that, like most groups of this sort, we are more united in our opposition to the current government than we are in what to replace it with. Still, a lot more can be done with this world than this society permits, and it can be done effectively without having the government watch you go to the bathroom. We are strong, powerful, and well-positioned; but the means of overthrow has, as yet, eluded us. Right now we concentrate on getting recruits, gaining as much technical information on the local level as possible in each place, and establishing ourselves in each major population center on Medusa. It is a start.”
I nodded. “But you can just as easily become a powerful debating society,” I pointed out. “Look, I was born and bred to politics. Had things gone differently for me, in a few years I’d have been in planetary administration instead of sitting here waiting on passengers. Don’t patronize me or think of me as a kid. I leave that to the people I want to underestimate me. For example, I think you should know that TMS knows you’re in Rochande and put me out as bait.”
There was a lot of shuffling and gasping at that one. Finally the leader asked, “Are you sure you know what you just said?”
I nodded. “Why hide it? You snuffed one of theirs and they got some information from another, and I was the logical bait. So they bumped me to a job that would bring me here. Frankly, I was getting sick and tired waiting for you people.”
“He admits to working for TMS!” a woman almost shouted. “Remove him—now!”
“If I were a really effective TMS agent or plant the last thing I would have done would have been to tell you what I just did,” I pointed out—falsely, as a matter of fact. The outburst worried me. Amateurs. Damned play-at- revolution amateurs! I had hoped for better.
