Copyright statement: This is an original work by the authors. Any resemblance to any person, living, dead, or fictional, is unintentional and coincidental. The writers retain all rights to this work, and the copyright may not be infringed.
Toomelli's Moon
By Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
I
The little café was like a hundred others of its kind established by the slave species of Shallock. Alan Westover swallowed and resolutely approached the swinging doors.
Garish orange flashing letters above the entrance announced Wingle's Bar and, as he pushed past two exiting customers, a blast of discordant sounds -- theoretically music, he supposed -- assaulted his hearing. The smell of rich, highly spiced cooking grabbed him by the throat as he inhaled and he gasped and coughed, blinking the tears from his eyes, trying to adjust them to the flickering, smoky illumination.
Nobody had looked at him. He went quietly over to seat himself in an empty corner booth, glancing casually about. A waiter approached and dropped a greasy menu in front of him. Alan picked it up gingerly, still scanning the customers.
He couldn't see much. An Arcturian occupied a booth across the room, his green scales glinting like jewels in the uncertain lighting, and there was a sprinkling of Terrans. Although Shallock was densely populated by Jilectans, there were, as expected, none of the aliens here. This section of the town was reserved for members of the lower class species.
Still, he was extremely reluctant to lower his shields. He had briefly done so earlier, only to detect the scanning mind of a Jilectan almost at once. He had closed his shields, waited nearly fifteen minutes and cautiously opened them again, only to encounter another Jilectan mind within seconds.
The Jilectan had been aware of him, and the alien mind had tried to zero in on him. Although he had gotten his shields back up instantly, the encounter had shaken him. The ruling species regularly scanned the areas of town where Terrans resided, looking for the subclass of humanity known as Terran psychics, and they seemed to be especially active tonight. Alan hadn't had the nerve to open his shields since.
Mark was nowhere to be seen, although he was certainly somewhere nearby, and undoubtedly had Alan pinpointed right now. Shallock was Linley's native world, as no one could doubt if they listened to his speech for thirty seconds. The accent was distinct and unmistakable, and the natives of the world never lost it. Mark had grown up in the gutters of the planet, which probably accounted, at least somewhat, for the competence he displayed in dealing with some of the difficult situations he and Alan had encountered over the last two years. Alan glanced covertly around but he couldn't see much through the murky atmosphere and he dared not look too closely.
"What'll it be?" The waiter was back, his pad held before him. Alan jerked his feet up as some small, many-legged creature scurried over his shoes. There was an alarmed squeak from beneath the table.
The waiter hadn't noticed. "Have you decided, sir?"
"I'll have the special," Alan said, hoping it wouldn't be too unpalatable.
"Anythin' t'drink?"
"You have iced tea?"
The waiter raised an eyebrow. "Certainly, sir. Anythin' else?"
"No; thank you."
The waiter collected the menu and departed. Alan glanced around again. He still didn't see Mark, but his partner was good at being inconspicuous if he wanted to be.
He felt movement beneath the table again. Something cold and mushy touched his ankle. He jerked away and kicked at the creature. A small, wet tentacle whipped suddenly around the ankle and started to ascend his leg. He shook the limb vigorously and the thing let go. Something splatted against the wall behind him.
Lovely place, Alan thought. No wonder the Jilectans thought of Terrans as less than dirt. He mastered the urge to crawl up onto the table and sat still.
A viceregal patrolman entered the room, glanced around and went over to seat himself at a table on the other side of the room.
"All alone, darlin'?"
Alan looked up as a young woman slithered into the seat across from him. She was attractively, if scantily, clad in a shimmery, green costume that left large patches of skin exposed in various imaginative places. Alan felt himself redden.
"Need a little company?"
He wrenched his eyes from one of the larger areas of epidermis and looked at her face. A pair of long-lashed, dark eyes met his and the girl smiled coyly. Alan swallowed, wondering how to get rid of her before his contact arrived. Mark would have known how, he thought disgustedly. Alan had often wished he could develop some of his partner's smooth expertise in dealing with the opposite sex.
"Aw, c'mon, darlin', don't look so sceered. I ain't gonna bitecha." She smiled again, tossing a lock of dark hair back from her forehead. "I'm Luanne. Who're you?"
"Arthur," he managed.
"Arthur. You gotta be from Terra with a name like that."
"I am." Alan swallowed again. He found his eyes straying again and forced his gaze back to her face. Where the dickens was Mark?
The patrolman was looking at Alan's companion. As Alan watched, he rose to his feet and headed in their direction.
"Uh, Luanne --" He nodded slightly in the man's direction.
Luanne didn't appear to notice, but she looked up in annoyance as the patrolman stopped beside their table. He was grinning a little, obviously already slightly intoxicated. "Hiya, honey. Nice t'see you again. C'mon over to my table an' I'll buy you a drink."
Luanne reached across the table, taking Alan's hand in hers. "Scram, Ray. I got other business right now."
The man's face darkened and he reached down to grasp her wrist. She extricated it without difficulty and rose to her feet. "I said scram! I'm busy!"
"That's okay," Alan said quickly. "I don't mind --"
The patrolman grinned. "He don't mind, honey. Come on. Y'know I can show you a better time than that li'l shrimp." He reached for her, again.
She stepped lightly backwards. "Get away from me. I got other business goin' here, an' I ain't interested in yours. Blow."
Alan stood up, somewhat disconcerted. "Luanne --"
"Shut up." She spoke absently, not glancing at him. "There's other girls here that'll accommodate you. Lemme alone."
Alan subsided, knowing his face was scarlet. The eyes of every customer in the place were on the little scene. He wondered what Mark must be thinking and was just as glad that his shields were up in case a Jil psychic hunter were to sweep the area. He didn't want to know.
Another patrolman materialized out of nowhere and put a hand on the intoxicated man's shoulder. "C'mon, Ray, it ain't worth it. Let's go."
Ray shook him off. "Mind your own business." He turned on Alan. "What the hell does she see in you, ya li'l shrimp? C'mere --" He reached for Alan.
The newcomer casually drew his blaster and stunned his companion. Ray crumpled to the floor at Alan's feet. Alan stared at the unconscious man in shock. "Oh gosh --"
"Sorry about that, kid." The newcomer bent and, with a grunt of effort, heaved his companion to his shoulders. "I'll send him home to sober up." He winked at Alan. "Have fun kid. You got the best girl in the house." He turned and went toward the door, the crowd parting to allow him through.
Alan sat down again and Luanne seated herself across from him once more. "Well, I'm glad Lieutenant Harvey showed up. He usually makes those viceregal jerks behave themselves."
"Uh --"
"Yeah, sweetie?"
"I really don't think I --" He stopped, flushing anew at the expression on her face.
She smiled brightly at him. "Don't worry, darlin'. I'm real easy goin', an' I'll take it easy on you 'til you're over your shyness." She leaned forward slightly and Alan found his eyes straying again. He drew a deep breath and determinedly focused on her face.
"Besides," she continued with an amused smile, "I got some news for you." Her voice was barely audible.
"What?"
Luanne leaned forward, placing a slim hand on his. Her fingernails were painted gold, he saw. "The special ain't so hot tonight," she said.
Alan almost gasped. He stammered a little but managed the correct response. "I hear the marshoppers on Shallock are the best in the Sector."
"Sauteed, sure," she said. "Never in a stew."
Alan almost grimaced but restrained himself, hoping fervently that no one else was listening. He had always thought this password business a little inane, but this was the stupidest conversation he'd heard yet. At least they could make it a bit more realistic.
It was obvious that Luanne shared his opinion, for her eyes came as close to laughing at him as he had ever seen the old cliché come to life. "Well, Arthur, willya buy a poor girl a drink?"
"Sure." He watched a cockroach crawl across the table between them. Luanne lifted her arm to let the insect pass and then reached for his hand again. He glanced up as the waiter approached with his food. "A drink for the lady, please."
"Certainly, sir." The waiter glanced at his companion.
"The usual, Walt," she said.
He nodded and departed. Alan managed to free his hand and picked up his fork. He looked at it a second and then wiped it quickly with his napkin. Luanne giggled.
The waiter set a drink before her and departed once more. Alan took a bite of the stew. The girl was right: it wasn't so good. He wondered with irritation if the person who had thought up that half-witted conversation had known.
"It's not bad," he said.
"Liar." She leaned forward and the neckline of her costume stretched slightly. Alan dropped stew in his lap.
He scooped it up with his napkin, feeling like an idiot, and replaced the fork on his plate, noting as he did so the long feeler of some exotic insect protruding from the contents. Yetch!
Better get this over with, he thought, before he humiliated himself beyond redemption. He removed the wallet from his pocket, took out two bills and passed them discreetly across the table. Anyone watching would draw the obvious conclusion, but on those bills was the information that he was here to impart. Luanne picked them up quite matter-of-factly and concealed them in her bosom -- a somewhat precarious hiding place, Alan thought, considering her clothing.
"Thank you," Luanne said. She reached out a hand and took his. "Come on."
"Huh?" Alan stared at her. "Where?"
"Upstairs, of course." Luanne got to her feet, giving him a little tug as he blinked at her. Was she serious?
"Well?" she inquired, impatiently. "You heard the 'trol, hon. You got the best girl in the house for a bargain price. You ain't gonna turn me down, are you?"
Alan got uncertainly to his feet, dropped credits on the table for his uneaten meal, and followed her. She had to make this look like the real thing, he supposed. She couldn't really mean what she was implying --
He hoped.
He went up the stairs with her, feeling very insecure. She led him down a short hallway and pushed open an unpowered door. Alan followed her through and the door closed behind them.
It was a small, dingy bedroom with a rag rug on the floor and dimly lighted by a flickering lamp overhead.
Luanne turned and tried to lock it. She struggled with it for a moment and then gave it up. "This damned lock!" she jerked it one last time and turned around to face him again, beginning to unseal her blouse. Alan took an apprehensive step backwards.
Luanne gave a little laugh but sobered at once. "There's somebody here to see you, Alan."
"Who?" he inquired uneasily.
"An Arcturian. I don't know him, but he seems to know you. He won't tell me anythin'."
"What's his name?" Alan asked.
"He won't tell me that, either. Luanne removed her blouse and stepped out of her sandals. "Do *you* know what it's about?"
He shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to fix his gaze on her face. She was wearing a black, lacy semi-transparent bra, embroidered with red rosebuds. It left nothing to the imagination.
"What do you want me to do about him? Listen, you'd better get some of your clothes off. If anybody gets curious, I want this to look legit."
Hesitantly, he unbuttoned his shirt. "An Arcturian?"
She nodded. "Tall -- but most of them are. Short muzzle, good-sized crest -- am I helpin' at all?"
Alan removed his shirt. Luanne smiled again and held out a hand. "C'mere. Don't look so nervous."
He hesitated and took a step toward her. She moved suddenly, catching his arm and spinning him around with surprising strength. He landed on the bed, and in an instant was on top of him, her dark hair concealing his face.
The door swung open.
Alan didn't move, except to put his arms around her. He could see nothing because of the hair but he hoped to goodness that whoever the person was, he'd have the decency to retire quickly. This was the disadvantage of operating with his shields up, he thought. If he'd been less apprehensive about lowering them, he would have detected the intruder before he'd opened the door. Thank heavens Luanne had been alert. Footsteps entered the room and there was a long moment of silence. The door closed.
Carefully, Alan removed Luanne's hair from his mouth. "What the devil do you want?" he growled, in an excellent imitation of his partner.
"Sorry, kid," Mark Linley's voice said. "Don't let me interrupt you."
Luanne's eyes met Alan's.
"It's all right," he managed. "It's my partner. Get up."
Mark was trying not to grin. "That's okay. No rush. There's somebody here that wants to see us. Finish up and I'll meetcha in the aircar." He turned and went out.
Luanne sat up on the bed and reached for her blouse. Alan sat up beside her, knowing that his face must tell all. His companion smiled charmingly. "Who was *he*?"
"Mark -- my partner."
"Good lookin' -- but too tall. I like my men short. Then I don't feel like such a shrimp." She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Go on, honey. Get dressed."
Alan retrieved his shirt. As he buttoned it, Luanne winked at him. "You got a nice body, Alan."
He turned around to face her. She really was short, he saw. The top of her head just reached his eyebrows. "Uh --"
She chuckled. "Oh, I know. But maybe someday we can get to know each other a little better. You like me, don'tcha?"
He nodded, speechless. She smiled and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "You're sweet, Alan -- a nice change from 'trols. Okay, let's go." She took his hand and led him out the door.
**********
Mark was waiting for him in the aircar, at their rendezvous point, a half-grin still on his lips. Alan climbed in beside him.
"Have fun, kid?"
Alan stared straight ahead. "It wasn't what it looked like."
"Oh, sure, I know. It was all a cover-up. You thought I was the Patrol."
"We didn't know *who* you were!"
Mark laughed. "So you forced yourself to play lover boy, and didn't enjoy it a bit, naturally --"
"Cut it out!"
"That's what I like about you, kid. All business, no matter what. Pretty li'l thing like that, up there alone with her, an' you don't even try to --"
Alan glared at him. Mark laughed again. "Easy, kid." Then he sobered. "Dannar'll be here in a minute."
"Dannar!"
"Yeah. He wants to talk to us in private. He's pretty worried about somethin', so when I saw you headin' upstairs with the little fluff, I figured I'd better cut it short in case you were plannin' t'make an evenin' of it --"
"Mark! You know I didn't --"
Linley socked him on the shoulder. "Sure, I know. But don't worry. You'll grow up someday."
Alan's ears felt as if they were on fire. "Mark!"
Linley grinned. "Okay, I'll shut up." He slapped Alan on the shoulder again. "Good job, by the way. I was sure you were gonna lose your head when that 'trol started getting' obnoxious but you were cool as an Arcturian in a snowstorm."
"Thanks." The glow of satisfaction that he felt was disproportionate to the praise, but when Mark gave praise, you could be sure it was deserved. "By the way where were you? I never did locate you."
"Behind the jukebox. My ears'll never be the same but it was a good place, 'cause I could talk without bein' overheard an still keep an eye on you."
"What do you suppose it was all about?"
Linley shrugged. "I dunno."
Alan looked around. "How long will he be?"
"Not too long. We didn't walk out together. Might look suspicious, an he may fool around a little to be on the safe side." He grinned. "Now, tell me about the little fluff. What was she like?"
Alan wished he could stop blushing. "She was very nice."
"Nice! Is that all you can say about her?"
"She didn't take me up there for *that*! It was to tell me that an Arcturian had been asking about me. It must have been Dannar. She hadn't told him anything, of course, but he --"
"Ah, so that's what you were talkin' about when I came in. I shoulda known."
Alan ignored him, well aware that Mark was ribbing him because of his well-known shyness. The aircar door opened quietly and Dannar climbed in beside him. "Good evening, Alan."
"Hi, Dan."
Dannar looked at Mark. "I zink it would be well for uss to become airborne as ssoon as possible."
The vehicle lifted smoothly from the ground, rose above the buildings and leveled off. The lights of the city twinkled beneath.
"What are you doing on Shallock?" Alan asked.
"Misster Schultz iss at a trade conference in ze city. It goes on for zree days -- seventy-nine hours on ziss world." Dannar extended the retractile talons of his right hand and examined the points. "It was six hours ago zat I received some disturbing newss."
"What?"
"Sheneral Kaley's ship hass been taken. He iss a prisoner of ze Shils."
Mark swore softly. "How did you find out? Are you sure the info's reliable?"
Dannar inclined his head. "I have my sources -- and ziss one iss certainly reliable."
"He was taken alive, you say?" Alan asked tensely.
Again the Arcturian inclined his head. "Zey have offered to releasse him unharmed if you will turn yourself in, Alan."
Mark cussed. "Yeah; sure."
"Where is he?" Alan asked. "Do you know?"
"Yess. He iss being taken to Corala, but will be transported soon afterwards to Toomelli'ss Moon."
"Top security base," Mark said grimly. "When did all this happen? This is the first we've heard of it."
The Arcturian glanced at his chronometer. "He wass taken about eight hours ago."
"That's why," Alan said. "We were in hyperspace." He glanced at Mark. "Do you think they've interrogated him yet?"
Linley shrugged. "I dunno. Probably not. They'll most likely save that for Toomelli's Moon. If they wanna trade him for you, they'll keep him in good shape 'til they see we're not gonna cooperate. They ain't gonna let him go, even if we handed 'em you on a silver platter. So don't get any ideas."
"I know that," Alan said. "Besides, I wouldn't do that to you. I've seen psychics lose partners before."
Linley nodded, not looking at him. "Yeah. Me too."
Dannar was watching them. "What are you going to do?"
There was a silence. Mark glanced at Alan.
The Arcturian spoke again. "We are supposed to try to kill him."
Still no reply. Mark and Alan were looking at each other.
"We don't have much time," Alan said. "We have to get to Corala before they take him away. As far as I know, no one but Patrol ships are allowed anywhere near Toomelli's Moon."
"They aren't," Mark said. "'Cept Jils, that is. Anybody else that comes within two lightyears o' the system gets blasted -- no questions asked."
"We haven't received any orders yet," Alan said, thoughtfully.
"We will, though," Linley said. "We're meetin' Kramer in two hours. You can bet he'll have 'em."
"We don't have two hours," Alan said. "We can't waste the time."
Dannar's teeth flashed. "Ze way you two zink -- it iss hard for me to keep up. I take it you do not intend to obey zese orders?"
"Alan just said it," Mark said. "We ain't got no official orders yet."
"Of course," Dannar said. "Sso, what iss ze plan?"
**********
tbc
