This is an original work of fiction by two authors, based solely on our imaginations, and is copyrighted to Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick. Any resemblance of the characters in this story to any persons real or imaginary is coincidental and unintentional.
Copyright 1995 by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick.
The Crystal Demon
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
This is a story in the Terran Underground universe. It occurs approximately 13 months before "Pawn" in the timeline. For a basic background on this series, read the introduction to "Slave Race", located here: http://www.lcficmbs.com/ubb/ultimatebb.php?ubb=get_topic;f=8;t=000003
Prologue
The Jilectan survey ship, 'Lady Crointhzill', came out of hyperspace near the orbit of the third planet in the Sovi system. Commander Upton watched as the planet swam ruddily into the viewscreen. Good-sized land masses, and vast oceans, tiny polar caps -- it could have been any of a thousand worlds that he had seen in the course of his career.
"Scanners?" he asked.
"Planetary temperature conducive to life," the scanner officer reported. "Oxy-nitrogen atmosphere. Bioscanners read photosynthesis occurring. There's life down there, sir."
Upton pressed the control that opened communication with the quarters of the ship's resident Jilectan. "Upton to Lord Splanxvor."
The com responded. "Your report, Commander?"
"We've emerged from hyperspace, sir. The sun is a G-type, seven planets showing. The third planet is within the comfort zone, and we're picking up life readings."
"Excellent, Commander." The Jilectan's jovial tone made Upton blink in surprise. "I will be there directly."
They approached the third planet, and details became clearer. The planet hosted two moons, one of which had been in the shadow of its primary and not visible on the initial scan.
The control room door slid open and Lord Splanxvor appeared. He was typical of his species, standing two meters in height, his build deceptively slim. He wore a bright yellow body suit with flared leggings, and a wide belt studded with pearls. His hair, a pale golden blond color, hung in ringlets to his shoulders and Upton became aware at once of a heavy odor of musky perfume with a thick undertone of kerosene. Upton rose quickly to his feet, inclining his head. "M'lord!"
Splanxvor ignored him, striding toward the viewscreen. He stepped past the guardrail and rested both hands on the screen. Upton sighed. That meant another delicate cleaning job, but he knew better than to protest. The alien stared fixedly at the planet.
Upton hesitated and then nodded to Jones. The sublieutenant cleared his throat nervously. "We're reading an oxy-nitrogen atmosphere, sir. The gravity reads 0.92 of Corala."
He might as well have not spoken. The Jilectan continued to stare at the screen. Jones glanced nervously at Upton and there was a long silence.
Splanxvor turned abruptly from the screen and Upton was astonished to see that the Jilectan's face was alive with excitement. "Set down on the third planet at once, Commander, and dispatch search parties!" He turned back to the screen, speaking as if to himself. "This is most interesting ..."
The planet grew rapidly larger until it filled most of the forward viewscreen.
"We're hitting the pull, M'lord," Upton said, respectfully.
"Oh. Yes, yes!" The Jilectan seated himself in the chair reserved for him. One of the crewmembers started forward to fasten his webbing for him, but Splanxvor was already doing so, his movements absent, his pale blue eyes still fixed on the screen.
"Atmosphere," one of the men at the scanner panel said.
A thin whine was beginning, and grew rapidly louder. Lord Splanxvor leaned forward with an excited exclamation. Upton glanced at him, trying not to stare. This was completely unlike Lord Splanxvor. His usual demeanor was one of strict self-control and rigid discipline toward his subordinates. Now he seemed to have forgotten it altogether, his attention all for the planet below.
"Lots of ruins," Jones' voice said from the long-range scanner. "I'm picking up small life forms, but nothing larger than a trenchcrawler."
"Set us down on the northern continent," the Jilectan ordered. "Near the largest mass of ruins."
"Yes sir," the navigator answered.
Upton determinedly kept his eyes focussed on the viewscreen, resolutely ignoring the large six-fingered handprints that glittered on the lower portion of the screen and blurred the images. The ship dropped lower and lower. A growl announced the deployment of the ship's landing gear and a moment later a gentle thump told the Commander that they had arrived.
Splanxvor was on his feet before Upton had even unfastened his safety webbing. "Dispatch search parties at once, Commander!"
Upton finally dared to speak up. "M'lord, please ..."
The Jilectan turned, looking excited and impatient. "Yes? Yes?"
"M'lord ... what are we looking for?"
Splanxvor stared at him a moment and then seemed to come to himself. "For anything that strikes you or your men as unusual, Commander! I am going out, myself, now! Follow as soon as your parties are assembled!"
Upton gasped. "M'lord -- you should have a bodyguard!"
"What? Oh yes, of course." The Jilectan pointed to the two men at the control panel. "You two! Come with me!"
The men scrambled to their feet, looking bewildered. Upton gestured to them. "Go!"
The pilot and copilot sprinted after Splanxvor. Upton sighed and spoke to Jones. "Man! What do you suppose this is all about?"
Jones shrugged expressively. "I don't know, sir. Maybe he's popped his cork at last."
"Maybe. Lieutenant Reed."
"Yessir?"
"Call the Security Chief and have him organize search parties. Step on it. We don't have any way of knowing how long he'll be in this good mood."
"Yessir!" Reed spoke into his communicator. "He acknowledges, sir. Parties are being assembled now." He glanced at the screens, which showed a mass of tangled greenery and tumbled stones. "What do you suppose we're looking for?"
"I don't know," Upton said, thoughtfully. "He sensed something for sure, but whatever has him so worked up I can't imagine." He nodded to his Subcommander. "You take command, Clay. I'm going out with the rest."
**********
Commander Upton entered his quarters and sank down on his bunk. There was a faint swish as the door to his valet's quarters opened. Duncan O'Neill, his valet, entered.
"Do you need me, sir?"
Upton groaned, crooking an arm over his eyes. O'Neill came forward, his feet almost silent on the thin carpet that covered the metal deck. There was a faint click. "Headache pills, sir?"
Upton pushed himself up on his elbows. The valet had placed a brimming drink on the metal nightstand and was offering him two small tablets. The Commander accepted them and gulped them down with a hefty swallow from the glass.
"Thanks," he mumbled.
"Let me take your boots, sir."
"Go ahead." Upton sat up and his valet knelt, removing the footgear. Upton lay back again, cursing under his breath.
"I take it M'lord isn't in the best of moods," the valet said.
"Not anymore," Upton said. "For a while there, I thought he'd flipped out or something. He was acting so tolerant ... but it didn't last long." The Commander pushed himself up, grabbed the glass and drained it.
"He's a Jil, sir," the valet remarked. "That should explain it all."
"Yeah, it should, but this one's weirder than most. Damn! I wonder how long he's going to keep us on this godforsaken world!"
The valet nodded. "Why are we here, sir? I thought this was just a routine survey trip."
"It was, in the beginning, but His Gorgeousness took one look at it on the scanners and ordered us to land, then he ordered out all the search parties we could manage. I've been out combing those blasted ruins for fourteen hours now."
The valet's eyes widened slightly. "I didn't realize. Would you like something to eat, sir?"
"Nah. I picked up a sandwich on my way down."
"Do you know what he's looking for, sir?"
Upton shook his head. "Damned if I know. I don't think *he* does, either! And the more we looked, the meaner he got. Started hitting guys for no reason and yelling at us because we couldn't keep up with him. It's a helluva world -- lots of ruins, but no living things except for weeds, trenchcrawlers and plenty of some kind of native vermin."
"What kind of ruins, sir?"
"Unidentified race. We found a few skeletons. They don't look humanoid, and His Gorgeousness isn't interested in 'em. Damn! My head's pounding!"
A shrill beeping made him wince. He swore wearily, and slapped the communicator with one hand. The screen lit up with the face of Sublieutenant Jones.
"Commander?"
"Yeah, what is it?"
"We're leaving, sir. Lord Splanxvor's orders."
Upton sighed with relief. "Great. Did he find what he was looking for?"
"Yes sir." The man's voice fell. "At least, I think he did. He found something, anyway."
"What was it?"
"I only saw it for a minute, sir." Jones' voice sounded oddly reluctant. "Damn thing gave me the creeping willies."
"What is it?"
"A globe-like thing, sir. Looks like a big pearl, about the size of an orange, and real pretty -- but there was something about it ..." The sublieutenant paused, looking embarrassed. "He took it into his quarters -- wouldn't let anyone look at it. He seemed awfully pleased about something, sir."
"Well, that's good." Upton lay down again. "I guess he's all finished here, then. What's our next system?"
"It was the Viggelo System, sir, but we aren't going there now. His Lordship wants to go to Xenis right away."
"Xenis? What the devil for?"
"He wouldn't say, sir."
Upton muttered to himself. "All right. Tell Davis to handle the takeoff. I'm shot."
The screen flickered to the face of Clay Davis, his Subcommander. "I'm here, sir. We'll be taking off in ten minutes."
Upton lay back on his bunk. After a while, he slept.
I
Alan Westover came awake suddenly at the touch of a hand on his shoulder.
"Wake up, kid."
"Oh hi." Alan sat up, rubbing his eyes at the sight of his tall partner. "What's the matter?"
Mark Linley was standing beside his bed, clad in pajamas, robe and slippers, and his blond hair was standing on end. The lighted numbers on the wall chronometer read 0332.
"We got trouble," Mark said. "Phil's callin'. He's sent a guy by the name of Dan Parkraft. Said you'd know him."
"I sure do." Alan swung his legs over the side of the bed. "He's one of our guys from Xenis." He stood up, yelping at the feel of the icy floor beneath his feet. "Where's my slippers?"
"Here." Mark kicked them across to him. "Hurry up."
Alan slid his feet into the slippers and pulled on his robe, wrapping it tightly around his torso and knotting the belt tight. "Can't we turn up the heat?"
"I already did. Here's your clothes." Mark tossed them to him. "Winter on Ceregon! Yuk!"
"I agree completely." Alan slid into his pants before removing the robe and shoving his arms hastily into the sleeves of his shirt. Mark tossed him a sweater. "Where'd you get this thing, anyway? It looks too big for you."
"It is." Alan glanced across the room toward his suitcase. "There's another one in there that's more my size."
Linley rummaged through the luggage. "I don't see it. Put that one on, kid. Who cares if it's a little big? Where'd you get it, anyway?"
Alan felt the blood creeping into his cheeks. "Lorie knitted it for me."
Mark's eyebrows climbed.
"She gave it to me for Christmas. Sweet of her to go to all that trouble ..."
"She must be gettin' serious!"
Alan nodded. "I'm afraid so." He picked up a comb and tugged it through his tangled curls.
"I never really thought o' little Lorie as the homebody type," his partner commented.
"She isn't!" Alan could feel his face burning. "I don't know what to do with her! She's got an awful crush on me!"
Linley chuckled. "Relax an' enjoy it."
"But -- I mean, gosh! Making me a *sweater* for Pete's sake! I don't think she's *ever* done that for anybody!"
Linley grinned. "You oughtta be flattered."
"Mark, what should I *do*? How do I tell her to back off a little? You're more experienced with women than I am."
His partner shrugged. "I gotta admit, she ain't really your type."
"She's not at *all* my type! She's taller than me, and ...well ..."
"More experienced?"
"A *lot* more experienced! Besides, she's seven years older than I am! She's twenty-eight -- almost twenty-nine!"
"That ain't so old," Linley said. "Hell, I'm thirty."
"Oh sure, I know. But I'm just a kid compared to her. What'll I do?"
"Just play it cool. Don't encourage her."
"I *don't*!"
"Yes you do. You're too kind-hearted." Linley slapped him on the shoulder as they exited into the hall. "Be nice to her, but let her know you ain't serious. Date around a bit. That's what I'd do."
The room they entered a moment later was large and brightly lighted. The floor was covered with a brilliant yellow carpet, embroidered with red and violet rectangles. They were on Ceregon, in the Arcturus system and the vaguely reptilian natives loved bright colors. Long, ruffled scarlet curtains covered the windows and the furniture was swathed in scarlet throws. The room was bitter cold, and Alan could hear the wind howling around the building, even through the thick curtains.
Two beings rose from their chairs as Mark and Alan entered. One was an Arcturian by the name of Follar, the C.O. of this Underground station. The other was a Terran.
Follar's crest was half-raised, and he glanced sideways at the Terran and then spoke. "Colonel Wesstover, Mashor Linley ... I am mosst ssorry to have awakened you at ziss hour, but we have received ssome dissturbing newss."
A young Arcturian female entered the room, an ornate tray held before her. Follar glanced toward her. "Perhapss you would like ssome coffee?"
Mark instantly took a mug. "Thanks, Miffel, honey."
She smiled, displaying a row of gleaming fangs. "You are welcome, ssir."
Alan took the second one. "Thanks, Miffel."
"You are alsso welcome, Colonel." Again the canines flashed. "My but it iss sstuffy in here!" She set the tray on a table and started toward the window.
Mark grabbed her elbow. "Take it easy, honey. Us Terrans ain't as warm-blooded as you folks. I'm about froze solid."
"So am I." It was the Terran speaking, his voice carrying the soft accent of Bellian. "I just came in from Xenis. It's very hot there at this time of year."
Follar spoke. "Mashor Linley, ziss iss Mashor Parkraft. I believe you are already acquainted wiz him, Colonel Wesstover."
"Yes." Alan returned the man's salute and then shook hands with him. "Nice to see you again, Dan."
"You too, Alan." The man turned to Mark. "Major Linley ..."
"Call me Mark if you want," Linley said. He took a swig from his mug. "What's the problem?"
Danoole Parkraft seated himself again, his blond brows drawn together. "We have trouble," he said, soberly. "I'm afraid my report is somewhat vague ..."
Alan also sat down. "Go ahead."
"I'll do my best. Thirty hours ago I got a call from an agent aboard the Survey ship 'Lady Crointhzill'. The man couldn't go into detail, but I could tell he was upset. It seems that the ship was making a routine survey of several systems with their resident Jil aboard -- a scientist by the name of Lord Splanxvor. They entered the Sovi system and discovered a planet in the comfort zone. His Lordship apparently became very interested in the planet and sent a scanning crew ashore -- and, believe it or not, went with them. It was apparently a pretty unpleasant place -- covered with ruins and loaded with vermin. The climate's hot and sticky during the day and bitter cold at night."
"Must have been somethin' awful important for a Jil to go out under those conditions," Linley commented. "Did they find anythin'?"
Parkraft nodded. "Yes, they did -- or rather, the Jil did. Our agent never got a look at it, but he heard a description from one of the crew. 'A globe-like thing. Looks like a big pearl about the size of an orange and real pretty. But there's something about it ...'." Parkraft paused. "That was all the guy said, except that His Lordship took the thing to his quarters and wouldn't let anyone see it. The crewman seemed upset, according to our agent, and the Jil was very pleased." Again, Parkraft paused. "Our man had a bad feeling about the whole thing. He's a clairvoyant and a long-range pre-cog. I trust him."
Mark frowned. "Anythin' else?"
Parkraft looked acutely uncomfortable. "I'm afraid so. The 'Lady Crointhzill' arrived on Xenis shortly after that. I was in the administration building on the base at Kern -- that's the capital city. A young woman was brought in by Lord Splanxvor a few hours after their arrival. He apparently spotted her -- a psychic."
Alan drew in his breath. "One of ours?"
"No. She was a colonist there, and apparently didn't know that she was a psychic. They took her up to the security section for interrogation. I saw her led in --" Parkraft stopped for a second. "The next time I saw her, she was dead."
"Suicide?" Mark asked.
"Apparently not. The story I heard was that she dropped dead in the middle of the interrogation."
"Heart condition?" Alan asked.
"It doesn't seem likely. If there was a pre-existing condition, it didn't show up on the autopsy report, nor was her husband aware of it."
"Husband?" Alan asked.
"Yes -- a non-psychic, brought in at the same time."
"Any children?"
"An infant daughter. We managed to get her away." Parkraft paused. "A psychic. She's on her way to Lavirra, now."
"What about the husband?" Mark asked.
Parkraft looked very troubled. "He was interrogated right after his wife. When they took him in, he was a handsome, intelligent man, understandably frightened and very upset over the death of his wife. He was in the room less than twenty minutes and when they brought him out he was nothing -- a walking statue -- a zombie."
Alan stared at the man in horror. "What kind of interrogation were they using?"
"I don't know." Parkraft shook his head. "I heard rumors. Apparently there were no drugs or pain stimulus used, but if the info I got was accurate, the victims answered every question, immediately. There was also mention of a soft, opaque ball, something like a big pearl, arranged in a machine of some kind. The men were frightened of it. I could tell that much."
Mark was frowning, rubbing his jaw. "Doesn't sound like any o' the interrogation methods they was usin' when I was in the Patrol."
"That's not all," Parkraft said.
"Huh? What else happened?"
"The fellow died about three hours after the interrogation. I got the autopsy report. Death from unknown cause. They don't know what killed him -- or his wife."
Linley swore under his breath. "What the devil *is* the thing?"
Parkraft shrugged. "I reported to my superiors. They sent me to you."
"Great," Mark said. "I guess we're gonna hafta get hold of it."
"Sounds like it could be dangerous, though," Alan said.
"Since when has that ever stopped us? 'Sides, we sure can't leave it in the hands of the Jils."
Parkraft cleared his throat. "I agree with both of you. Apparently, though, the patrolmen in the room weren't affected by it. Therefore, assuming that we avoid direct contact with it, it can't hurt us."
"It didn't hurt the Jil," Mark said, "but it killed the Terran psychic. I wonder what the difference is."
"Maybe this globe thing didn't kill anybody," Parkraft said. "Maybe this is all an imaginative story thought up by a couple of bored 'trols -- but I don't really believe it."
"Neither do I," Alan said. He tried to ignore the nervous prickling on his neck and scalp. "We need to get hold of the thing as soon as we can. If the two victims talked so readily under its influence, it might do the same thing to an Undergrounder -- shielding or no."
"Do you know where it's bein' kept?" Linley asked.
"Somewhere in the security section," Parkraft said. "I don't know exactly where. I'm not cleared for that area."
"That's not a problem," Mark said. "Follar can get us the right ID, can'tcha, Follar?"
"Can do, Mashor," the Arcturian replied.
**********
tbc
