Shell Game: 6/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
XIII
A check of the lifeboat hangars several hours later, revealed the techs still laboring industriously. Alan concentrated a moment and sighed. "They don't expect to be finished until after our arrival at Ladreen. It looks like we're going to have to try my idea."
"What are you going to do?"
"M'lords are going to have some problems right after breakfast. I'm going to spike their drinks."
"With what? You ain't thinkin' o' poisonin' 'em, are you?"
"Of course not," Alan said. "It has to be something that will put the crew in an uproar, without suspicion falling on us. A little caffeine should do the trick, don't you think?"
**********
"Wake up, kid."
Alan started awake, lifting his head from the table. He'd fallen asleep, he realized. Mark flashed him a grin, his white teeth gleaming in the dimness.
"Take it easy. There's loads of time."
Alan nodded, rubbing his eyes. Mark set a cup of coffee in front of him.
"Here you go. An' I got all your ingredients for the breakfasts set out."
Alan poured cream into his coffee and added a spoonful of sugar. "How's Leiberman?"
"Sleepin' like a baby. He's fine."
"Good." Alan sipped at his coffee and winced at the heat. "I guess I'd better get started."
"Okay. I'll make us some breakfast while you're workin'."
Alan prepared the Jilectans' breakfasts. It wouldn't do, of course, for all of the aliens to be stricken at once or someone would certainly suspect the food. Of course, if they did suspect, Leiberman's conspicuous absence might draw attention away from him ...
He had been working for about an hour when the first of the galley workers began to filter in. One of them glanced curiously at Alan.
"Did you stay here all night?"
"Nope." Alan shook his head. "But these Jil dishes are kind of complicated. I had to start early."
Another man glanced at his chronometer and scowled. "I wonder where the devil Leiberman is? He's late."
Alan saw his chance. "Gosh, he was here a little while ago."
"He was?"
"Yeah," Linley contributed. "He came in, puttered around a while an' left."
"Huh! Well, he better show up soon or I'll have to make the breakfasts ..."
The men drifted away, talking idly, and began to assemble the ingredients for the crew's breakfasts. Alan glanced at his chronometer. 3.6 hours to Ladreen.
He placed the last of the food in the microwave, set the controls and turned to Mark. "I'll be done in a few minutes. Then ..."
**********
The control room of "The Pride of Galanthzor" was occupied by four crewmen, the Ship Commander and Lord Brexvor, seated in a chair of state. Ship Commander Gavin sat rigidly in his chair, not looking at the Jilectan but acutely aware of his presence. He hated having Jils in the control room. It made everybody nervous, and the more nervous they were, the more likely they were to make a mistake.
A commotion without drew his attention, and Gavin turned in his chair, glancing toward the entrance. He stared in horror.
Lord Dilexvor burst between the two sentries and charged into the control room. The Jilectan's hair was standing out wildly around his face and in one hand, he clutched a jeweled ceremonial knife. Crewmembers grabbed for him but he dodged with lithe speed. Screaming curses in the Jilectan tongue, he flung himself at Brexvor.
Brexvor sprang to his feet and leaped lightly over the guardrail before the blow fell. Dilexvor followed, still shrieking incomprehensible threats, and finally succeeded in cornering his colleague against a control panel. Men charged forward as Brexvor shouted for assistance.
Lord Dilexvor was not large by Jilectan standards but compared to the Terrans attempting to subdue him, he was enormous. One man fell back, clutching a slashed arm, while another dropped like a stone, blood streaming down his face. Dilexvor threw off the other Terrans like so many children and leaped single-mindedly for Brexvor. Brexvor shouted for help as the other Jilectan's weight bore him to the deck. Crewmembers hauled at Dilexvor without success, and there was a cry and then a scream from Brexvor.
Gavin ran to the scene of conflict and threw both arms around the irate scientist's neck, attempting to haul him back. Dilexvor shrieked a very Terran obscenity at him and caught one of his hands in a crushing grip. The Commander cried out in his turn and tried to pull away. Something popped in his wrist, and for a moment his consciousness greyed out.
When he regained his senses, Gavin beheld a scene of turmoil. Eight large, husky Terrans were pinning the thrashing Dilexvor to the deck and Brexvor was sitting up, looking dazed, with blood pouring from a long slash in his right forearm. Two more Terrans converged on His Lordship and one of them grasped the arm, applying pressure over the injured site. Immediately, the bleeding subsided to a thin trickle.
The scene swam before him. A man was leaning over him and his voice came thinly to Gavin's ears. "Are you all right, sir?"
"I think so." Gavin rubbed the uninjured hand over his eyes, but his vision remained blurred. "What's the matter with him?"
"I don't know, sir." The man rose to jab a thumb at a wall communicator. "Doctor Bingham to the control room on the double!"
Bingham's voice responded at once. "What is it? I've got an emergency down here."
"We have an injury, doc -- several of them, in fact. Lord Brexvor has a bad cut on his arm and Lord Dilexvor is acting like a wild man."
The doctor's muffled exclamation carried clearly over the unit. "Can you bring them down here? I'll need my equipment for treatment, and I can't leave Lord Pilathzor."
"All right," the crewman said, dubiously, "but it's not going to be easy. Dilexvor acts like he's crazy!"
"Do your best. I can't sedate him anyway until I know what's causing the problem."
Together, the eight Terrans lifted the wildly struggling scientist from the deck. Dilexvor fought crazily, hurling curses at Brexvor, who preceded him from the control room, supported by two more Terrans.
They had reached the lift when Dilexvor managed to break free. With a shriek of triumph, he made a lunge for Brexvor. The momentum of his body carried them both into the lift. Terrans shouted, scrambling after them. The Commander followed, leaning on one of the crewmen.
The two Jilectans rolled on the floor of the lift, Dilexvor trying to get a stranglehold on his colleague's throat. Blood from Brexvor's arm smeared the deck and men shouted, trying to haul the enraged alien back from his victim. One man fell to his knees, a hand over his eyes and another was hurled violently against the bulkhead, to slide to the deck, making crowing noises as he tried to regain his breath. The lift moved downward.
They came to a stop on the fourth deck, the doors sliding open. The Terrans had at last managed to disengage Dilexvor from his fellow, and they started to exit, wrestling the flailing Jilectan into the corridor -- and stopped, aghast.
Lacy Jorexzill stood before the lift, her fair, smooth skin glowing in the lighting. She wore a negligee so sheer that it might as well not have been there at all, and her red hair tumbled down her back like waves of flame. She surveyed the scene before her appraisingly, then seized the man on Gavin's right by one wrist. Jerking him forward, she swung him lightly into her arms and stepped past the gaping Terrans into the lift.
"Out!" she commanded, imperiously. "All of you, out!"
The Terrans tried to obey, badly hampered by the cursing, clawing Dilexvor. Brexvor, clutching his injured arm, stared at the Lady in horror.
"Madame!" he thundered. "How dare you appear before Terran males in that condition!"
She laughed scornfully, aiming a barefooted kick at the still-struggling Dilexvor. "I do as I please, chol-worm! Get out!" She drew the Terran suddenly against her, kissing him hard. The man gave a strangled gasp and submitted, which, Gavin thought, confusedly, was the most sensible thing he could do under the circumstances.
Somehow, they got Dilexvor out and the doors slid shut after them, hiding the Lady and her companion from view. The scientist cursed, still trying to reach Brexvor. Halfway down the corridor, he broke free a second time and leaped for the other alien. Brexvor ran, still clutching his injured arm, but Dilexvor overtook him quickly, hitting him at the knees in a flying tackle. Again, the two Jilectans went down, smearing the deck liberally with blood.
Someone shouted for help and more men emerged from the infirmary. Behind them came Lord Pilathzor, his hair disordered, his fine clothes half-torn away. He voiced a delighted shout and ran toward them, waving and clapping his hands. Terrans fell before his charge and the big alien came to a stop in front of Gavin. Chortling, he yanked the Commander away from his helper and swung him high. Gavin found himself held above Pilathzor's head, bare centimeters from the overhead. The Jilectan laughed again and let him drop.
Somebody grabbed him, breaking his fall, and men seized him, trying to drag him away from Pilathzor. Pilathzor had him by the hair, hauling him upright again. Once again, he was lifted from the deck.
Four large, husky Terrans descended on Pilathzor. Gavin, released, stumbled backwards and sat down hard.
"Get them in here!" It was Doctor Bingham. "Hurry. I'll see if I can figure out what's wrong."
The command was easier issued than carried out, and they were all considerably the worse for wear by the time they managed to get Dilexvor strapped down. A few moments later, Pilathzor was also fastened to an examining table. Dilexlvor strained against the confining straps, still screaming curses at Brexvor, while Pilathzor giggled happily, trying to spit at the Terrans who came too close.
Bingham bent over the Jilectan and carefully drew a blood sample. He stepped back, wiping his cheek, and dropped the sample into the analyzer. He grunted in surprise.
"Caffeine."
Brexvor, slumped limply in his chair, while an assistant applied pressure to the arm, sat up straight. "Caffeine!"
"Yes, M'lord." The doctor turned toward him. "Definitely caffeine. A ... recreational dose in his system." He glanced at another assistant. "Give him a sedative, quickly, while I test Lord Dilexvor."
"Yes, sir." The man went over to Pilathzor, dodging a spray of saliva, while Bingham drew blood from Dilexvor. Quickly, he dropped it into the analyzer.
"Hmmm ... same thing. Where could they possibly have contacted it?"
Brexvor's face darkened. "That new cook! Have him brought to me at once!"
"Yes, sir." Bingham nodded to a crewman, who ran out.
Bavin's vision was slowly clearing. "What about the Lady, M'lord? Shouldn't we bring her here for treatment?"
Brexvor glanced at another crewman. "Go fetch her."
The crewman started for the door, then hesitated. "I'll need help, sir."
Gavin surveyed the multitude of injured crewmen in the room. "Call Maintenance. Have them send all available crewmen to Her Ladyship's suite."
The crewman departed at a run. A few moments later, the young cook entered, flanked by two crewmen and another kitchen worker. The boy appeared very young and totally harmless, his blue eyes wide with apprehension. Brexvor, his slashed arm being repaired by Doctor Bingham, gestured impatiently. "Come here."
Young Graves approached and went to one knee before the Jilectan. Brexvor surveyed him icily.
"My three colleagues have somehow received a dose of caffeine. Do you know of any way that this could have happened?"
Graves' eyes got bigger. "On, no, M'lord!"
Brexvor reached forward, touching two fingers to the boy's forehead. There was a long, intense moment of silence.
Then, the Jilectan straightened up, wiping his fingers fractionally across his bloodied robes. "Very well, Graves, you may rise."
The boy stood up and the crewmen, realizing that he was no longer a suspect, stood back. The other kitchen worker spoke up, gulping nervously. "Uh .. M'lord?"
"Yes?"
"The chief cook, Franz Leiberman, is missing. He hasn't been seen since before breakfast ... while your breakfasts were being prepared."
Brexvor's face became livid. "Search the ship for him at once!"
"Yes, M'lord!" The man ran out. Brexvor waved carelessly at Graves.
"Assist him!"
"Yessir!" The cook started for the door. As he approached, it swished open and six crewmen entered, holding a wildly struggling Lady Jorexzill by the arms. The Lady had lost her negligee, and was totally nude, although one crewman was trying vainly to shield her with a flowing, silver-pink robe. Her gaze fastened on Graves and she ceased struggling abruptly.
"Ah, little Steven! You have come back!"
The cook gulped. "Uh, yes, of course, M'lady." He put a hand out, taking one of hers. "Here, let me help you with your robe."
Gavin stared in admiration as the small, insignificant young man slipped the robe over Jorexzill's form and led her toward the examining table. She went without protest. As Graves seated her on the table, she reached for him, clasping him to her and planted a passionate kiss on his mouth. Brexvor came to his feet.
"Lady! Control yourself!"
The young cook was speaking soothingly and Lady Jorexzill subsided, releasing him. "I will see you in my apartment, Steven!" she announced in clear, ringing tones that could be heard throughout the infirmary. Never, Gavin thought, had an assignation been made so publicly, but Graves smiled quite calmly, kissed the Lady's hand with polished grace and retreated from the room. The door swished shut behind him.
**********
"Well, kid?" Mark Linley was waiting for him as he stepped from the lift onto the sixth level. "What happened?"
"Brexvor probed me. He didn't suspect a thing. Let's move! We're running out of time!"
They ran down the corridor toward the lifeboat hangars. Alan paused in the corridor, probing with telepathy and clairvoyance. "That one's operable."
"Great." Linley stepped into the hangar, Alan right behind him.
Most of the techs had already been dispatched to assist with the Jilectans, but three men still labored on the lifeboat within. Alan hurried toward them.
"Lord Brexvor orders you to stop work right away. They need you to help search for Leiberman. M'lord thinks he's responsible for the trouble, and he's offered a thousand credits for the man who finds him!"
The crewmen dropped their tools and ran out, not even glancing back. Alan and Mark waited until the sound of the lift opening reached them, then hurried to the craft and boarded.
Alan dropped into the pilot's seat and activated the computer. He heard the clang of the door to the corridor closing, and a few seconds later the monitor screen indicated that the airlock on the hangar had sealed. "Okay, here we go. I've set the lifeboat to go into hyperspace as soon as we leave the ship's field. All set?"
"All set."
"Right." Alan's hand cut in the engines, the outer doors opened automatically and the tiny craft was flung outward from the belly of the larger ship. There was a terrific jolt.
"We got forty-five minutes," Mark said, while Alan's teeth were still rattling.
Alan shook his head. "Well, we did it again and nothing cracked. Normal space in one minute."
The seconds clicked by and there was another, less violent jolt. Instantly, Mark was bending over the communicator, sending the all-important message out in code, warning Lavirra of the research ship's imminent arrival. Then, for a few moments, there was silence. The starry darkness drifted slowly past, and all was very still. The communicator beeped suddenly with the recognition and acknowledgement signal.
Mark voiced a deep sigh. "Well," he said. "We did our best. I hope it does some good."
Alan nodded, closing his eyes. Suddenly, he felt very tired.
XIX
A shrill bleep sounded, jolting Mark Linley awake. A soft voice spoke suddenly in the Jilectan language. For an instant he didn't recognize his surroundings, then he sat up in the copilot's seat and glanced irritably at the computer. "Talk Basic, baby," he growled.
"Baby does not compute," the female voice replied in Basic, "however the order is understood. Thirty seconds to sublight."
Alan was also sitting up in his chair. "Are we there?"
"Yep? Your safety belt fastened?"
Alan's answer was drowned in the jolt that marked their conversion to normal space. He rubbed his shoulder. "Man, is my shoulder sore!"
"Compliments o' Brexvor an' Dilexvor. Well, baby, you see any ships around?"
The computer replied, sounding irritated, exactly, Linley thought, like a Lady Jil. "Repeat: baby does not compute. Terran fightercraft detected ten thousand kilometers distant and one Jilectan research vessel, Riskellian registry. Instructions?"
"Yeah. Patch me into the fighters' frequency, baby."
"I repeat, baby does not ..."
"Does not compute. I know. Patch me in, anyway."
Immediately, a babble of voices came over the open communicator. Mark put two fingers to his mouth and voiced an ear-piercing whistle. There was a sudden silence.
"Hey," Mark said, "this is Colonel Linley. Anybody home?"
A voice responded instantly. "This is Lieutenant Evanston, Colonel. Is Colonel Westover with you?"
"Where else would he be? Everythin' all nice an' tidy?"
"Yes, sir. The Jilectan research vessel has surrendered and we're escorting them to the base. Evacuation procedures are in progress."
"Good. Did our friends have time to send a message?"
"We don't know, sir. Probably not. We were waiting for them, and listening. We didn't intercept any message, but it's possible they were on an odd frequency. We won't know until we question the crew."
"Roger. See you on the ground."
"Over and out, sir."
Linley leaned back in his seat. "Well, let's hope we made it."
Alan was looking uncomfortable. "I don't know, Mark ..."
Linley straightened up again, his heart sinking. "You havin' a premonition?"
"I don't know." His partner shifted uneasily. "I want to question the crew. I have a sort of bad feeling, but maybe it's just a false alarm."
"Not likely." Linley cursed under his breath. "If some guy managed to spill the beans after all we went through, I'll personally wring his neck."
They set down on the edge of the base's landing field seconds before the "Pride of Galanthzor" touched down. Alan and Mark disembarked, running across the hard-packed ground to the rows of armed men and women awaiting the crew of the research vessel.
Walter Kaley's uniformed figure was standing some distance away. He glanced sideways as they panted up to him. "Nice to have you back, gentlemen."
"Thank you, sir," Alan said.
"May I commend you on your success in sending that message under what must have been very adverse circumstances?"
Mark suppressed a smug grin. "Only doin' our job, sir," he said, solemnly.
Kaley glanced sharply at him, but he met the suspicious look with one of earnest sternness. He saw Alan hide a smile.
The airlock of the "Pride of Galanthzor" clanged open and men started to emerge under the watchful eyes of armed guards. Linley saw a blond man in the uniform of a civilian ship commander descend the ramp, his hands clasped on top of his head, followed by men in the uniforms of control room officers. About twelve Terrans had descended the ramp when Lord Brexvor appeared in the airlock, his hands fastened behind him with the Underground's equivalent of psychic restrainers. The device was specially made to resist telekinetics and no one but Alan, using both Mark Linley and his half-brother Kevin Bronson as his power packs had succeeded in unfastening them.
The alien's gaze lit on Alan, still clad in the servant's attire and apron. Disbelief flickered on his features.
"You!" he rasped. "Graves, is it not?"
Alan inclined his head slightly.
"But you are Pilathzor's servant! Why are you not confined as well?"
A military policeman trotted up, saluting hastily. "We have the other three Jils, sir. Did you want to question then?"
"No." Kaley shook his head. "Confine them to the brig. I do, however, want to question the control room crew."
"Yes, sir. They're being held for you."
"Thank you, Sergeant." Kaley glanced at Brexvor, and Linley could have sworn that he saw a flicker of amusement on his superior officer's face. The General turned to Alan. "Colonel Westover, if you will do the honors ..."
"Of course, sir," Alan said, and saluted smartly.
Brexvor's face mirrored shock and disbelief. "You are no psychic! I probed you, myself!"
Alan's expression didn't change. "Excuse me, General."
"Certainly, Colonel." Kaley inclined his head as Alan turned away. Linley paused only a moment, observing the alien's suddenly pale face and Kaley's carefully deadpan expression, then followed his partner, convinced that he'd been mistaken when he'd thought his C.O possessed no sense of humor.
Alan removed his wig and contacts as they walked across the landing field toward the small group of men standing uncertainly under the guard of four brawny MPs. One man wore the uniform of a civilian ship commander and his left wrist was bandaged. His attention fixed on Alan as he and Linley approached.
"Graves?" he said, slowly. "Then Brexvor was wrong." He looked resigned. "I suppose you were behind it after all."
Alan inclined his head. "I'm afraid so, Ship Commander Gavin," he replied, courteously. "The name is Alan Westover."
Gavin looked at him long and hard. "Yes," he said at last. "Your face is familiar."
Alan nodded soberly. "I apologize for the inconvenience I caused you, Commander, but it was necessary." He turned his head to survey the four control room officers. Linley felt a slight power drain at the same instant. Alan was reading the officers, and he saw his partner suddenly compress his lips.
"What is it?" Linley demanded.
"The Duty Officer, Zimes, sent a message to Corala upon entering the system," Alan said, sounding resigned. "It's standard operational procedure for Viceregal research ships to do an immediate scan of a system upon arrival, and to report anything odd at once to the nearest Patrol station, you know."
One of the men had gone pale. Mark glared at him. "Are you Zimes?"
The man nodded. "Yes."
"Why the hell were you in such an all-fired hurry for, anyhow?"
The man gulped, but looked Mark directly in the eye. "I thought something odd was going on with all the Jils getting sick like that. And when I saw that planet where there wasn't supposed to be one ..."
Alan interrupted him, sounding tired. "That's why you used the special frequency."
"What special frequency?" Mark demanded.
"New order," Alan said. "That's why we didn't know about it. Anything suspicious like this that a Research or Survey ship spots is to be reported on a special high-frequency channel. The order only came out three days ago, Riskell time. They're sending a battlecruiser to investigate."
Linley cursed softly, glaring at Zimes. "Mister, if they get here before we can get the women and kids out, I'm gonna personally wring your scrawny neck!"
"What do you mean?" Zimes asked. "What women and children?"
Alan ignored him as Kaley strode up. "Well, Colonel?"
Alan reported what he had learned. The General sighed.
"I was entertaining the hope that they had not managed to send such a message. Ah, well, fortune cannot always smile upon us. You'd better head for your quarters and assist your wives, gentlemen. We'll be needing your services very soon. As of this moment, I am transferring command of the Lavirran Warfleet to you, Fleet Commander Linley. Do you have any orders, sir?"
Mark grinned fractionally at the "sir". He had been designated Commander of the Lavirran Warfleet in view of the fact that he personally had experienced more actual space warfare conditions than any other officer on the base, or, for that matter, in the entire Terran Confederation, itself.
He nodded briskly. "Yes, General, I do. Speed up the evacuation procedure as well as you can. We have to get out of here, fast. If I were in command of the Patrol fleet, I'd be willin' to bet that a report like the one they got, followed by the disappearance o' the research ship, means a major Underground base, an' send in the Sector Fleet. I'll handle my end o' operations through my partner." He added, "I take it you'll notify the other bases o' what's goin' on?"
Kaley nodded. "I'll take care of everything at my end. Good luck, gentlemen." He turned and hurried away, waving to his adjutant, Lieutenant Godfrey Wilkins, a psychic.
Mark glanced at Alan again. "You're coordinator o' the psychic communications network. Better get 'em organized."
"I already have," Alan said. "They're all acknowledging."
"Good. Put the Fleet on alert." He glanced at the MPs. "Escort these guys to the brig an' lock 'em up. We got more important things to think about." He started across the landing field at a trot. "Scramble Blue and Brown Squadrons," he told Alan. "Have 'em take up positions in the asteroid belt as per the Primary Defense Plan. An' for the luvvamike, get us a car. We got lotsa things t'do, an' not much time t'do it in!"
**********
(tbc)
