Tsar Wars: Agents of ISIS, Book 1 (7 page)

“It doesn’t matter what we want or don’t
want,” said a new person. “It’s gonna happen anyway. There’s
nothing we can do.”

“Sure there is. We can stand up and let
people know how we feel. If enough people say they want things
changed, things get changed.”

“Are you calling for revolt?” asked an old
man sitting alone way in the back of the hall. “There’ve been two
uprisings during my lifetime, both put down ruthlessly. Thousands
of people were killed, even more shipped off to Gulag. Or perhaps
you were thinking of the Communist Revolution, eh tovarishch? What
a noble experiment
that
was!”

“Of course I didn’t mean that,” the agitator
said quickly. The Communist experiment had been held in wide scorn,
even in Russia back on Earth; with the rise of the Empire, it was
official policy to ridicule that dark chapter of the past. “Let
this little girl sit on her throne if she wants. But we owe her
nothing, and she has no claim over us.”

“We’re part of the largest empire the human
race has ever seen,” the old man said. “Nearly a thousand worlds
now, and growing almost weekly. We should take pride in being part
of something greater than we are. It gives us a sense of direction,
a sense of purpose.”

“A sense of insignificance, a sense of
impotence,” the rebel mocked. “We’re like ants, toiling for a queen
who doesn’t know us and doesn’t care. We’re men, not ants. Let’s
start acting like it!”

Judah’d heard enough. The same arguments had
been going on, to a greater or lesser degree, since the beginning
of the Empire, with no real resolution but to let things go on as
they were. The dissident on stage here was far too determined to be
a simple complainer. Almost certainly he was an agent provacateur,
planting the seeds of dissension to blossom slowly in people’s
minds. Even if he didn’t arouse them to riot today, they’d heard
enough so that when an uprising did start it would not be
surprising and its leaders’ arguments would sound familiar.

There must be hundreds of such agents, not
just here on Kyrby but throughout the Empire as a whole. Riots were
occurring almost daily as dissent spread. As Wettig had pointed
out, ISIS was but a shadow of its former self, unable to extinguish
so many fires at once. If things proceeded any further, the entire
Empire would crack apart—and there’d be plenty of scavengers around
to pick up the pieces.

Bright and early the next morning he walked
into the storefront recruiting office of the kavalergardy, eager to
enlist. The sergeant at the desk was a bored-looking man in his
mid-fifties. As Judah entered, he looked up from his computer
screen and his face took on an expression of professional
friendliness. “And what can we do for you today, gospodin?” he
asked.

“I’d like to join the kavalergardy,” Judah
said.

The sergeant’s face brightened. “That’s just
what I’m here for, son.” He rose to shake Judah’s hand and offered
him a seat. As Judah sat down, the sergeant continued, “I’m
Sergeant Hallif. What’s your name?”

“Ivan Borodin, sir,” Judah replied. It was a
nom de guerre that Ilya Uzi had used in the third book,
Fire
Storm
. Using it was a slight gamble, but a whimsical one. If
questioned about it he could always claim it was a coincidence.
These things did happen. And
Fire Storm
, for some reason,
had never been as popular as the rest of the series. And besides,
the sergeant didn’t look like much of a reader.

The recruiter entered the name into the form
without so much as a blink of recognition. “Now Ivan, I can think
of many reasons why a sharp young lad like you would want to join
the kavalergardy. What’s yours?”

“I like the work, sir, and I like being part
of something greater than myself.”

The sergeant raised an eyebrow. “You’ve done
this before?”

“Yes, sir. I was in service to Graf Hanforth
for almost two years.”

“And why did you leave?”

“It was voluntary, sir. I’d originally been
appointed to take the place of one of the officers who decided to
retire. After about two years, the man un-retired and got his job
back. They would have kept me on, but I figured there wouldn’t be
much room for advancement in the near future, so I thought I’d look
for new opportunities.” Judah paused. “The graf appointed me a
boyarin, sir. I can upload the certificate and my recommendation,
if you’d like.”

“In time. I have a few other questions to ask
you first.” The recruiter proceeded to ask Judah a series of
questions designed to test his general educational level and his
basic aptitudes for this particular work. Judah had to walk a
tightrope here. Kavalergardy could not be stupid—but at the same
time, an ordinary oprichnik who was too smart might also arouse
suspicion in an organization on the lookout for infiltrators. After
nearly two hours of interview, Judah was told to return home and
wait for word of his acceptance.

Judah returned to his hotel and spent the
rest of the day researching Kuznyetz and his family. There wasn’t
much available on the public web; the knyaz apparently enjoyed his
privacy. Kuznyetz was not born to his title; he’d gained it by
marrying Lady Teodora; there was no public record of him before his
engagement to her, which was strange indeed. Marriages between
dvoryane and commoners were quite frequent, and even encouraged to
prevent inbreeding—but marriage to a total unknown? Definitely
suspicious.

There was plenty of public information about
Teodora’s family history, and that of her family line. She married
Yevgheniy when she was twenty, and ascended to her current title
eight years later on the death of her father. Over the following
years there was less and less public information about Teodora. The
whole story now centered on Kuznyetz, while Teodora faded into
obscurity. Aside from attending public ceremonies, the couple
removed themselves from the sight of their subjects.

The couple had one child, Lady Marya—and
about her there was almost too much information. The ravishingly
beautiful young dvoryanka, in her mid-twenties, was constant fuel
for gossip. She flitted from party to party, sporting event to
concert and night club to ballroom. She seemed to ignore the
ceremonial duties usually assigned to the junior dvoryane, like
hospital openings and statue dedications; she concentrated totally
on flash and glitz. She had a handsome escort at every event, and
seldom the same one twice. Cousin Eva might be equally promiscuous,
but she at least was discreet; Marya seemed to flaunt her affairs
for all the Empire to see.

He heard nothing from the recruiter that day,
and still nothing the next. He paced back and forth in his hotel
room, trying to derive some solace from what his hero Ilya Uzi
said: “Trust in patience, and develop backup plans while you wait.”
But backup plans were slow in coming.
Maybe I don’t have what it
takes after all,
he thought.
Maybe my daydreams were just
that—empty fantasies.

Midmorning on the third day he received the
call he’d been hoping for. It wasn’t the recruiting sergeant, but
some anonymous voice telling him he’d been provisionally accepted,
and he should report that afternoon to a certain office for a
physical exam.

He was on time for the appointment, with only
minor concern. The examination would show he was a Zionian, but
what did that matter? There wasn’t much prejudice against his
people these days, and Zionians were even valued in the military
services for their strength and reflexes. There’d be nothing to
indicate he was a spy, and his heritage might even work in his
favor.

As it turned out, the doctor was bored and
the examination perfunctory. If she even noticed Judah’s racial
heritage she never mentioned it. His heart and lungs worked fine,
he was free of disease, and his blood tests were negative for
drugs. She called in her findings to the guard office, and orders
were sent down for Judah to report for duty first thing the next
morning.

He showed up as ordered, wearing his neatest
clothes and his most eager expression. He saluted smartly as he was
greeted by a captain who didn’t bother to introduce herself. She
looked down at her computer tablet and back up at him. “Ivan
Borodin?” she asked.

Judah snapped to attention. “Reporting as
ordered, ma’am,” he said crisply.

“It says here you requested a position in the
kavalergardy.”

“Yes, ma’am. I served for Graf Hanforth—”

“Yes, I read his recommendation. Most
impressive. You happen to be in luck, too. A position on the
household staff just opened up this week. You can have the job if
you want it.”

Judah’s heart leapt happily, but he took
great care not to let it show on his face. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you,
ma’am.”

The captain pointed to a door on her left.
“Go down there to Cdr. Aab. He’ll get you your uniform and kit.
Welcome to His Grace’s kavalergardy, junior lieutenant. That will
be all.”

“Thank you again, ma’am.” He saluted, did a
rapid about-face and left through the indicated door. He was in!
With any luck, he’d discover the secret plans Kuznyetz was hatching
and be able to foil them. Ilya Uzi would be proud.

Observing the scene on a security monitor,
Pavel Lubikov turned to his lord. “I must repeat my concerns about
this policy, Your Grace. Hanforth is known as a close ally of
Wettig. This man is almost certainly a spy.”

Kuznyetz smiled mirthlessly at his prime
councilor. “Of course. That’s why I want him right here, where we
can keep an eye on him. A spy you know is not a threat. I believe
in the old adage that you should keep your friends close and your
enemies closer.”

“He will be closely watched,” Lubikov agreed.
“Wettig must be scraping the bottom of the barrel, to send someone
so obvious.”

After saying quick farewells to the company,
Eva followed Lady Hasina back to the woman’s private space yacht
for the long trip to Earth. Hasina was stone-faced all the way to
the ship; Eva ignored the cold behavior and kept a friendly smile
plastered on her face.
If she’s trying to rattle me,
Eva
thought,
she’ll have to do better than that.

The small ship lifted off as soon as its two
passengers were aboard. Eva tried to introduce herself informally
to the three-person crew, but they were obviously taking their cue
from their mistress and were polite but distant. Eva simply retired
to her assigned cabin, lay on the bunk and waited patiently for
Hasina to make the first move.

An hour or so after leaving Turtello there
was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Eva invited.

Hasina entered, looking very businesslike.
“I’ll have to brief you on the background we’ve created for you.
You will be Lady Ilona Farik, daughter of a boyarin from
Liaska—”

“No,” Eva said simply.

Hasina seemed to share her father’s distaste
for interruptions. She stared daggers at Eva for a few seconds, and
finally said coldly, “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“Well, the name’s smooth, I can live with
that. But the Ville hasn’t been to Liaska since I was, oh, three or
four. I wouldn’t know my way around there.”

“But it doesn’t matter. You’re not going
there.”

“If I’m not familiar with my own home world,
I could be tripped up and have my cover blown. Why don’t we say I’m
from Ortanj? I was just there two years ago. I know all the best
spots.” She smiled as a memory came to her mind. “And one or two
not-so-good, too. And I can do the accent really well.”

The young dvoryanka’s glare would have frozen
nitrogen. “Do you think you’re in charge of this assignment?”

“Who’s the one risking her life to save the
Velikaya Knyaghinya while you sit calmly in your cozy little
castle?”

“That’s not—”

“You don’t like me very much, do you?”

Hasina’s nostrils flared. “That’s irrelevant.
We each have a job to do.”

“Humor me,” Eva said. “Why don’t you like
me?”

Hasina paused, and Eva could see the
calculation in her eyes as she was deciding how much truth to tell.
“I think you’re a self-centered prima donna more interested in her
own pleasure than the fate of the Empire. You’re untested,
undisciplined, insubordinate and don’t take this mission seriously,
and I have severe doubts about placing the Knyaghinya’s welfare in
your hands.”

Eva smiled at her. “Good. I like a gal who
can speak her mind. Actually, I think you’ve read me pretty well,
except for that bit about not taking it seriously. My parents
died
serving the Empire. While secret-agenting wasn’t my
dream like Judah, I have to respect what they died for or else the
whole thing was for nothing. I can’t accept that. I have to go
through with this to validate them.”

Eva’s smile broadened. “Now it’s my turn. I
think you’re a woman consumed by jealousy because you wanted this
assignment and you’re sure you could do it, but your daddy passed
you over in favor of an ‘untested, undisciplined, insubordinate
prima donna’ because he thinks you’re too valuable to him working
in his office. You resent me because I got the job you wanted.”

From the stunned look on Hasina’s face, Eva
knew she’d scored a bull’s-eye. Probably not too many people had
spoken that candidly to the woman before. Pressing her advantage,
she clapped her hands and said, “
Nu
, now that we each know
who we’re dealing with, let’s get down to business. We were
discussing my cover identity ….”

* * *

The Tsar Gregoriy Spaceport outside Moscow
was the largest and busiest commercial spaceport in the Empire.
Since it serviced humanity’s capital there would likely be hundreds
of ships docked there at any given moment, with dozens more waiting
in orbit for a landing spot as soon as one became available. It
extended for many kilometers, so sprawling that a person standing
at the center of the vast landing field wouldn’t be able to see the
perimeters—even if all those ships weren’t blocking the view. And
the port was in a perpetual state of expansion, constantly adding
new landing sites as the Empire expanded at a geometric rate.