To Turn A Spy
Thierry knew he shouldn’t, but he was falling in love. He found himself tumbling into the warm folds of romance. This society, so different from his own, had claimed his mind. The woman beside him, claimed his heart. Momentarily, he mused on the strange events that brought him to this wonderful woman.
Records of the Marconi colony were lost during the previous war. As a result, no modern starship had visited in nearly 400 years. The Marconi’s had rebuilt their society after slipping back to stone-age technology. A golden age of science and wonder returned in the equivalent of Earth’s Victorian Age. Steamships plied the waters of the habitable moon. A popular book theorized restoring life to the dead with that miracle called, “electricity.”
Fabienne rested against the boat in the grass of the tiny island. The channel burbling gently beside them was popular with lovers, rowing small boats into the mild current. There, any of seventy islands offered privacy for an afternoon of food, drink, and earthly delights. Though her dress was still on, her undergarments dangled colorfully on a nearby bush. Her angelic face shown in the light of the nearby gas giant. While she reclined, Thierry took out his paints to record his passion, his font of joy, his Fabienne.
As he painted, diligently capturing the curve of her lips, he paused to imagine a life with her. Evenings wouldn’t include 3D-Vids, rather sharing loving words and wine whilst staring into the fireplace. He could stay here and forget that he was a spy, seeking to turn or recruit enemy spies on the militarily strategic moon. He would never grow bored with her. She was effervescent and positive, well-educated enough to be a charming conversationalist. Though, like many of the wealthy elite, she was desperately naive.
That worked in his favor. If he gave up the life of espionage and settled down with her, there was always the risk of fatal injury and disease. Modern medicine could overcome most of it easily, but not this world’s crude technology. He possessed a technological “trick” to overcome any problem and keep his true identity hidden. Fabienne’s naivete made it possible. Yes, he could do this. She wasn’t the type to ask pointed questions.
“Darling,” said Fabienne. “I’m feeling peckish. Is there any more Havarti?”
“I’m afraid we ate it all, ducks.”
“Oh poo!” Her lip quivered.
Thierry couldn’t bear to deny her . He could retrieve anything she wanted, really. Perhaps just a tiny break from protocol with the “trick” would restore that magnificent smile. “Ah…there’s a food vendor on the other side of the hill. I can see what he has.”
Her full lips beamed for him. “That would be lovely!”
After disappearing into the tall grass, he returned with miniature duck pies with mango salsa. Fabienne ate with glee. Then the wine ran out. “My knight,” she cooed. “Would you mind fetching more wine?”
Thierry left again, certain she’d never question his forays. He returned with an excellent Petit Chiraz. It wasn’t long before she said, “Darling! Peckish again.”
Thierry returned once more with bacon-wrapped king prawns with rosemary and lemon-olive oil dip. They feasted, savoring the rich flavors.
“Of course, my dear.”
As Thierry disappeared into the grass, he pressed a device. In an instant, he traveled 148 light years to the cafeteria at Headquarters.
Behind him, still beside the boat, Fabienne touched her jawbone and gave her report.
“Do you believe he’s an enemy spy, Agent 99?” said Control.
She knew in an instant, weeks ago.
“Can’t be sure just yet.”
“Any hint of their wormhole technology? We need that for our agents.”
If yes, the agency would insist she turn him. Their relationship would end. She didn’t like trapping him like a mouse beneath her paw. Further, He was kind and good-looking. Wonderful to talk to. She’d enjoyed his clean scent and his clever humor. And then he had access to this wonderful food!
“Unsure at this time.”
“Hopefully, sex with that barbarian isn’t too vile.”
Good God. He was an artiste! The best she’d ever had. She wanted more of him, every day. She knew she could never grow tired of his passions.
“Awful!” she reported. “He’s boorish and smelly.”
“When do you think you’ll give a full status on the target?”
Fabienne savored a bite of goat’s cheese crostini with slow-roasted balsamic tomatoes. She sighed. “It may take a looong time.”
“Turning” a spy means forcing an enemy agent, via bribery, blackmail, seduction, or many other means, to work for you. Thus, double-agents.
Wormhole: Instantaneous transportation through any distance of space. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wormhole
It’s time again for Grammar Ghoul Press’ Mutant 750. The word prompt this week is, “Paw.” The media prompt is a painting by John Singer Sargent. I love Pre-Raphaelite work, and this piece is vaguely reminiscent of it, though I believe it can’t be characterized as the same style. Nonetheless, I like it a lot. Look here for more stories based upon the prompts: http://www.grammarghoulpress.com/gg-writing-challenge-17/