This is a story in the Terran Underground series.
I know it has been a long time, but I hope there are a few of my old readers left. If there are, please leave me feedback if you can.
Copyright statement: This is an original work by the two 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.
Story Description: After all, every card deck has a wild card or two, as Subcommander Carson discovered the hard way
Joker
By Linda Garrick and Nancy Smith
Part 1
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Rachael Winslow tossed back her silky, platinum blond hair and stared disgustedly first at her husband and then at her father. "You never used to talk this way, Dad -- not before we moved here! What's the matter with you?"
Ron Sanderson met her angry gaze soberly, his pale blue eyes very serious. "I was hiding my head in the sand, Rachael. Some things have happened in the last year that changed the way I feel, completely."
Rachel gave a scornful snort. "The Jilectans are civilized people, Dad. You're listening to the propaganda. If we'd stop trying to make war on them, they'd quit making problems for us, and you know it!"
"Don't be a fool!" Ryan said, speaking impatiently to her for the first time since Rachael had known him. Her eyes widened in shock. Ryan adored her -- in fact, she was sure he had fallen in love with her the minute they had met, as most men did. It had been understood that they would marry when Rachael came of age, and Rachael's father had given his full approval of the match. After all, Ryan's father, Fletcher Winslow, was the richest man in the Terran colony of Balka.
Rachael had not always lived here. She had been born on Terra, eighteen years ago, the first child of Ronald and Marie Sanderson. Her mother had died young, and Rachael remembered her only vaguely as a pretty, dark-haired woman with a flashing smile. But Marie's death had devastated Rachael's father and for years he had lived in seclusion. At last, he began to emerge from his shell and eight years ago he had married a tall, pretty woman named Betty. Rachael liked her stepmother, and life had seemed once again full of promise.
But right after Rachael's sixteenth birthday, life had changed.
Her father, who had always been more or less scornful of those Terrans who warned of Jilectan dominance and of their supposed threat to the Terran Confederation, had suddenly done a complete about face. Very suddenly, he seemed frightened, and began to speak to his family of the Jilectans' cruelties and atrocities. Rachael, who had been raised quite differently, had been astounded by his sudden change. Even greater had been her shock when her father had suddenly announced to her that they were going to colonize to Balka.
Rachael threw a tantrum. She refused to go, but to her astonishment, it had failed to move her father, and so a year ago they had arrived in the Balka colony.
A few months later she had met Ryan Winslow and found him attractive. He had wanted to marry her, and so when her eighteenth birthday arrived, they had announced their marriage plans, and a few weeks later were married. Ryan's father had built them a house on the large section of land adjacent to the far end of his property, and Rachael had been satisfied with the arrangement. Her father had always been well-off and the new house kept up with her accustomed manner of living. In addition, she found that she enjoyed her new role as the wife of a land owner and farmer. True, it was necessary to get out of bed earlier than she liked, but Ryan was unfailingly devoted and loving. She was kept busy -- but not too busy -- with household chores, and her father was always nearby in case she needed a shoulder to cry on.
The one thing she could not accustom herself to was the anti-Jilectan feeling in the town. Even Ryan believed the alien race to be selfish, heartless brutes, who cared nothing for any species but themselves. Rachael knew the attitude to be ridiculous. After all, the Jilectans had legitimate grievances when it came to Terrans. Alan Westover and the former Strike Commander, Mark Linley, had murdered several nobles of the species, including the Viceroy, Lord Lanthzor, himself. So, certainly the aliens had cause for their harshness toward the terrorists who made up the Terran Underground.
Rachael, however, couldn't swallow the stories of Jilectan atrocities involving Terrans. Who could believe that anyone could order the deaths of hundreds of Terrans without cause? The Underground argued that the charges against the colonies had been trumped up, but Rachael simply didn't believe it.
"Rachael, listen to me." Her father was looking her straight in the face, his voice intense. "The Jils don't care about us -- any more than we care about vermin! They need our planets, and they don't care how they get them as long as the planets aren't damaged too much in the process. They're reproducing too fast, and they don't even try to control their population growth. If we let them, they'll someday crowd us right out of the Sector."
"Oh, nonsense!" Rachael laughed. "Dad, you sound like that propaganda flick we listened to before we left. The Jilectans are no threat to us! -- and they'll certainly never try to take over Terra!"
From somewhere, not far away, came the sound of a ship's engines, which rose rapidly in pitch. Rachael reflected absently that the captain of that ship was going to be in trouble. Ships were supposed to land only at the landing field, some distance to the north of the settlement. It wasn't her problem, however. Turning, she went into her dressing room. The day was insufferably hot, and she was tired of hearing her father and husband rant and rave about the Jilectans. After all, she thought, the Jils were just people, like everybody else. Why in heaven's name were her father and husband so upset about them? None of them had ever even seen a Jilectan.
It was even hotter in the dressing room. Rachael stripped off her dress and put on shorts and a light top. Then she paused, admiring herself in the mirror.
She was very beautiful, she acknowledged. Really, no one could deny that. Although she was quite short in stature, she was slender, well-proportioned and softly curved. Platinum hair fell, waving, over her shoulders, and her features were delicate and attractive. Rachael smiled, and her reflection smiled back.
A knock sounded on the outer door. Rachael patted her hair into place and went out.
There was a sudden shout and a loud bang. Rachael flinched, suddenly and unaccountably frightened by the sound.
"Ryan?" she called.
Her husband appeared in the doorway, his eyes wide. Behind him walked two men, clad in black uniforms with scarlet edgings. They wore silver helmets with dark visors, which covered the upper half of their faces. Rachael stared at them with sudden fright.
"Who are they?"
"Viceregal Patrol, lady!" the taller of the two snapped.
"It's Mrs. Winslow." Rachael tried to speak calmly, although her heart was knocking against her ribs. "What do you want?"
The man's lips pursed. "Oh. Mrs. Winslow," he said, mocking her. He grinned broadly.
Behind him there was a cry and a scuffling sound. Her father appeared through the door to the den, two more patrolmen holding his arms behind him.
"Bring the man along." It was the first patrolman speaking, and Rachael saw now that his helmet was different from the other two -- the side was adorned with a thin black slash. He glanced back at Rachael and his lips split in another wide grin.
"Nice," he commented.
Rachael took a quick step back, glancing quickly from her father to her husband. "Ryan, what's going on? What do these men want?"
The sergeant relinquished her father to the custody of one of the other patrolmen. ""Never you mind, honey. Nobody's gonna hurtcha --"
"They're going to execute us, Rachael!" Ryan spoke before his captor could stop him. "They want this planet --" His words ended abruptly as one of the men struck him across the mouth. Rachael turned and bolted for the heavy drapes which closed off the dressing room.
The sergeant was after her instantly. He caught her and dragged her easily back, ignoring her struggles. Frantically, she aimed a wild swing at him, which he dodged easily. The other men laughed and applauded as he caught her blouse and tore the thin material away.
"Hey!" Her father began to struggle desperately in the grasp of the man who held him. "Let her alone!"
Ryan moved suddenly, twisted free of the man who held him and launched himself toward Rachael and the sergeant. Somewhere a blaster cracked sharply.
Rachael screamed as Ryan crashed to the floor, his entire back charred open by the blaster bolt. The sergeant swore, getting to his feet and yanking Rachael up beside him. He gestured abruptly at Sanderson.
"Get him outta here. Damn you, Michaels! Can'tcha hold onto nothin'?"
"Sorry, sir," the man mumbled.
Rachael stared in horror at her husband's body. "Ryan! My God! You killed him!"
Two men hauled Ron Sanderson from the room. The sergeant's hand on her arm jerked Rachael through the drapes into the dressing room.
"Quit fightin', honey!" he snapped. "There ain't no point in it!"
"You let me go!" Rachael struck uselessly at his face. "You killed my husband, you big sloof! You have no right --!" She screamed again as the man caught her blouse a second time, ripping the remnants entirely away and revealing her lacy, transparent bra. He grinned appreciatively and dragged her toward the large bed.
A patrolman stuck his head through the drapes. "The guy's gone, Sarge. Can I have a turn when you're finished?"
"Sure." The sergeant glanced briefly toward him. "Now, get lost."
"Yessir!" The man's head vanished. The sergeant threw Rachael down on the bed.
"Lie still, sweetheart," he advised, and began to unfasten his breeches. Rachael stared in horror, clutching the bedclothes to herself.
"No! Leave me alone! Daddy! Help me!"
The sergeant laughed, tossing his breeches and belt to the chair. The belt and its holster slid to the floor, and Rachael's gaze flicked toward it. The sergeant started toward her, still grinning. Rachael glanced at the blaster again.
And then, suddenly the weapon was flying toward her. She lifted her hands and it smacked solidly into her grasp. The sergeant froze, comprehension leaping into his eyes. Rachael fired.
The man dropped like a stone as the bolt caught him full in the chest. On instinct, the muzzle lifted as the drapes billowed inward and the figure of another patrolman charged through, weapon in hand. Rachael fired again.
The second man spun sideways and fell to his knees with a groan. Coldly, Rachael fired a third time and he dropped.
Then, for a moment, she didn't move, the incredible realization of what she had done sweeping over her. She had killed two men -- members of the Viceregal Patrol! She was dead, unless she could get away. How could she do it? Aghast, she stared at the two prone bodies, her mind racing in circles.
******
To Be Continued
