Volcano Island: Chapter 18
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Chapter 18
Lyla Watson tossed a last disc into the emergency blanket. “I think that’s it.”
“I think so,” Alan said. “Do another sweep, just to be sure.”
Lyla nodded, turning back to the shelves.
Doctor Gallagher appeared to have regained his composure, Alan noted with relief. The man wasn’t the sort of person who could kill another man without compunction, which wasn’t surprising, considering his chosen profession, but he had a basic grounding of common sense, which seemed to be serving him well, considering the circumstances. He and Thoroski had been speaking together quietly for the past ten minutes. Shelly was seated beside them, listening intently.
Alan turned toward the door and Thoroski glanced up. “Where are you going?”
“Mark’s coming,” Alan said.
“How do you know?” Gallagher asked.
“Remember who he is,” Thoroski said. “He isn’t three meters tall, but he’s a better psychic than any Jil you’ve ever met. They don’t admit it, but Terran psychics in general are better than most Jils at what they do. That’s why the Jils hate them so much.”
Alan smiled. “Be right back. I have to go let them in.” He went out the door and across the yard to open the forcefield. The aircar containing Mark and Stewart passed silently through and settled in front of the library. Alan closed the barrier again and went to meet the two men as they clambered out of it.
Linley turned to survey the dark jungle around them. The search parties had apparently moved on past the library, for there were none to be seen. He glanced down at his partner. “All finished?”
Alan nodded. “I think so. Lyla’s doing one last sweep.”
“How’s the doctor?”
“He’s coming out of it. The poor guy was pretty shaken up for awhile. I don’t think he actually planned to shoot the Jil.”
“Probably not,” Linley agreed. “He did a good job, considerin’ he didn’t plan to do it, though. Man, when I heard that blaster go off, my hair stood straight up. You’d said Lyla was in there with the Jil, and I was scared we was gonna walk into somethin’ we didn’t want to see. I’m glad it worked out okay.”
“Yeah,” Alan agreed. “And we’ve got a new recruit.”
“What are we gonna do with him?” Linley asked. “He really doesn’t strike me as the Undergrounder type.”
Alan laughed. “Did I strike you as the Undergrounder type when you first met me?”
Linley snorted. “I have to say, you didn’t, but I’ve changed my mind. Let’s go talk to him.”
As they entered the library, Thoroski stood up.
“Wayne and I have been listening to the Patrol transmissions,” he said. “They’re plenty worried about their missing Jil. They’ve got a lot of injured, and the infirmary’s in a shambles. They’ve been calling Dr. Gallagher, too, but he doesn’t answer.” Thoroski grinned. “They figure he’s either dead or injured, and the corpsman is going nuts. Apparently they haven’t figured out that the Doctor’s had anything to do with the problems they’re having.”
“Are you suggesting he go back to the ship and pretend nothing’s happened?” Jeff demanded. “When they find the Jil, they’re going to hotfoot it to Corala and all his kith and kin will come storming aboard. If any of them takes a look at Gallagher, they’ll know something’s wrong.”
“Wayne’s due to go on leave,” Thoroski said. “I’ve already drawn up his papers. He’s departing right after this assignment. Nobody has any reason to suspect him.”
“I think he should go back,” Shelly said unexpectedly.
“I agree,” Alan said. “It would be nice if we can get Dr. Gallagher back on the ship without suspicion falling on him.”
“Why?” Jeff asked.
“Just a hunch,” Alan said. “Do you think you can lay low in Sick Bay and stay under the radar, Doctor?”
“I think so,” Gallagher said. “Nobody pays much attention to me most of the time.”
There was a silence. Then Linley grinned. “I say let him go. Sven’ll be there to help if anythin’ goes wrong, but it probably won’t.”
“We’ll arrange a rendezvous point on Corala,” Alan said. “Is that all right with you, Doctor Gallagher?”
The doctor nodded. “I’ll do whatever you say, Colonel Westover. But – uh – before we go, I’d like to say something.”
Alan felt his face grow warm. He knew what the doctor was going to say. “Don’t worry about it, Doctor. Really. Of all the people on board while I was a prisoner there, you helped me the most – except Subcommander Bronson, of course.”
“I admired you,” Gallagher said. “I’d never seen anybody go through three interrogations and be as pleasant about it as you were.”
“Pleasant?” Alan spoke incredulously. “I wasn’t pleasant!”
“You never said one bad word to anybody,” Gallagher said. “It tore me up to watch you.”
Alan’s face grew warmer. “It helped to know that you were sympathetic, even if you couldn’t do anything. Look; we’d better get going before another quake hits.”
“That’s for sure,” Linley said. “Now here’s how we’ll work it –“
**********
The Underground’s aircar passed quietly across the ruined city. Far away there was a muffled explosion, and glowing gas shot from one of the distant volcanoes.
“How’s this spot?” Jeff brought the aircar down, scanning his instruments closely. “Nobody too close.”
There was no answer from the rear seat. Alan glanced back at Thoroski and Lyla and turned quickly forward again. Mark Linley grinned faintly.
Jeff cut the engines. “Okay, here we are.”
“The ruins are that-a-way, Doc,” Mark said, pointing. “It’ll take you about fifteen minutes on foot. Don’t forget to leave your helmet behind. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” Gallagher dropped his helmet to the floor of the aircar and opened the door. He glanced sideways at Alan and then sneaked a peak over his shoulder. “Ready, sir?” he inquired innocently.
“Yeah, ready.” Thoroski heaved a sigh and released Lyla. “Goodbye, Lyla. I’ll see you as soon as I get leave.”
“Goodbye, Sven,” she said. “I’ll be looking forward to it. Take care of yourself.”
The doctor and the Strike Commander moved off carefully into the jungle. Jeff lifted the aircar silently into the sky.
“You think they’ll be all right?” Linley asked.
Alan nodded. “I think so.”
“So do I,” Shelly said. “I have a kind of feeling about Doctor Gallagher.“
**********
“Hey!” Gallagher shouted. “Over here!”
The flicker of the searchers handlights drew nearer. “Identify yourself!” a voice snapped.
“Dr. Gallagher!” Gallagher replied, staggering forward. “Am I glad to see you guys!”
Two men had appeared through tangled vegetation and lights flashed over him.
“Patrolmen Cheever and Hubble, sir,” the man in the lead said. “Are you all right?”
“Bruised, but alive. Man, what a place!”
“Yeah,” Cheever said. The other patrolman thumbed his helmet mike.
“Leviathan, we’ve found Dr. Gallagher!”
“Is he okay?” a voice inquired, sounding harried.
“Yeah, he looks all right. A bit tired. We’ll get him back as quick as we can!”
Cheever beckoned, flashing his light over the riotous greenery of the jungle. “The aircar’s this way, Doc. They need you in Sick Bay as soon as you can get there. It’s been a helluva mess.”
“I guess so,” Gallagher said. “I’ll be glad to get out of here. Has His Lordship found what he’s looking for yet?”
“He’s disappeared, sir. We got one call from him, and then nothing. We’ve been hunting and calling for him ever since.”
“You mean he was outside the ship?” Gallagher asked. “Why would he risk himself like that?”
“I dunno. He went out a couple of hours ago, and then we got a call saying he’d called in about finding the library and to home in on his signal. Only the signal disappeared, and nobody’s heard from him since.”
“That doesn’t sound too good,” Gallagher said. “I hope nothing’s happened to him.”
“No kidding,” the man said. “There’s Undergrounders here, you know. Somebody said Westover’s one of them.”
“Uh oh,” Gallagher said. “That really doesn’t sound good.”
The man shook his head. “I got a bad feeling about it, Doc. I’m glad we got you back, though. They’re going crazy back at the ship, there’s so many injured. The corpsman can’t handle it. Greg’s been trying to help him, but you know old Bennett.”
“Is Thoroski all right?” Gallagher asked. “We got separated in that big quake right after we left the ship.”
“We haven’t found him either,” the man informed him. “I hope he’s not dead.”
“Me, too.”
They reached the aircar and got in, Cheever behind the controls. The trip through the air was short, and within minutes, Gallagher was boarding the Leviathan, escorted by the two patrolmen.
The scene in the infirmary, when he entered it a few minutes later, was one of mass chaos. Men lay moaning on every examining table and at least a dozen lay on improvised litters on the deck. Arnold Paine was stretched on one table, screaming thinly, and the corpsman, Bennett, was bending over him, trying to apply a splint to one leg.
Greg Smythe appeared at Gallagher’s elbow, his hands full of bandages and assorted medical supplies. His face mirrored relief.
“Doctor Gallagher! Are you all right?”
“More or less,” Gallagher said.
“Greg!” It was the corpsman. “Come here and give this guy 50 of – Doc!” There was abject relief in the word as Bennett spotted Gallagher.
“Oh, God!” Paine bellowed. “Help me!”
It was amazing, Gallagher thought, how in a crisis people like Paine turned religious. He came over to the table. “All right, Patrolman, lie down. Thanks, Bennett,” he added. “I’ll take over here. See what you can do for Reichmann, will you? Looks like that wrist could be broken. Do a scan. Greg, get me 50 of Tramildazine for Paine – oh, thanks.”
Smythe was injecting Paine in the arm. The man continued to scream for a moment and then abruptly collapsed. The door of the infirmary slid open at that moment, and Lieutenant Carson was assisted through, supported by a patrolman. The lieutenant was hopping on one leg and the other dangled limply.
“Dr. Gallagher? Carson’s got a busted leg,” the patrolman told him. He helped Carson down to sit on the deck.
Gallagher finished strapping a splint on Paine’s leg and went to the lieutenant. Compound fracture, at a guess. He’d have to be put under to set it. “Greg, give the lieutenant 50 of the Tram while I check out these other guys.”
“Yessir.” Smythe bent over the injured man.
Sublieutenant Anthony lay on one of the examining tables, out cold, a huge, purple bruise adorning his left temple. Further examination revealed cuts, abrasions, two missing teeth and three fractured fingers. The scanner indicated a minor concussion.
“This one can wait.” Gallagher glanced up as Smythe appeared beside him. “Treat him for shock, Greg, but don’t lower his head. He’s got a concussion.”
“Yessir,” Greg said. He covered the sublieutenant with a light blanket. “Feeling better, sir?”
There was something in the way the words were spoken that caught Gallagher’s attention. “Uh – yeah, I am. Thanks.”
It was true, he realized suddenly. He was feeling better. His outlook had turned completely around in the past few hours. He felt alive again. Life was worth living after all.
“That’s good, sir.” Greg smiled enigmatically. “I’ve been worried about you. Glad you’re better.”
Gallagher stared at the little man, slightly perplexed, and then the light dawned. He had been right about Greg, after all. A psychic assistant was undoubtedly a great advantage for his Strike Commander in the role he now filled.
Greg’s smile widened slightly and then vanished. “Patrolman Larisi doesn’t look good, sir. You’d better take a look at him. And Carson’s out, anytime you want to set that leg.”
“Thanks.” Gallagher turned his head. “Bennett, can you set Carson’s leg while I check out Larisi?”
“Yes sir!”
Larisi had a fractured skull and a severe concussion, as well as half a dozen other fractures, including a minor one of the lumbar spine. Gallagher worked quickly, getting him immobilized, Greg assisting, always with the desired article ready when Gallagher needed it. It only reinforced his conclusion. If things worked out right, things could get very interesting aboard the Leviathan in the coming months.
The door opened again, and he heard a breathless “Doctor!” He turned.
Strike Commander Thoroski, minus his helmet, was being carried through the door by two patrolmen, sagging loosely in the men’s hold.
“Take him to the back room!” Gallagher commanded. “And stay with him until I get there!”
“Yessir.”
“Wait a minute. Greg, you stay with him. You men are needed for rescue work. Go!”
The men carried Thoroski into the back room, which Gallagher used for his private office. Greg started to follow, and then turned as a further commotion sounded.
Four men entered the room, bearing between them the badly mangled body of Lord Pomothvor. Ch’Dreel followed the procession, his blue feathers standing out straight around his face. He was chirping hysterically as he gazed at the body of the Jilectan Lord.
“What happened?” Gallagher gasped.
“We found him two kilometers from here!” one of the men panted. “Had to chase away a dozen scavengers before we could get to him. Sorry about the condition of the body, sir.”
“A blaster!” Gallagher surveyed his own handiwork in awe. “He was shot in the back!”
“Yeah!” the man panted.
“Hell! All right, take him to the morgue. How did it happen? Does anyone know?”
No one did. The men hauled Pomothvor into the morgue, puffing and straining, while Ch’Dreel plucked at Gallagher’s sleeve in a frenzy. “Doctor, you will try to … repair the body shomewhat? If hish kin shee him like thish –“
“I’ll do my best, sir.” Gallagher started to turn away, when the com crackled. A voice spoke from it.
“Control Room to Subcommander Ch’Dreel! We’re picking up transmissions from a ship, departing the planet at a high rate of speed!”
Ch’Dreel was too distraught to answer. Gallagher pressed the com control on the nearest bulkhead. “Pipe it down here, Control.”
“Yes sir!” There was a click.
Mark Linley’s voice spoke suddenly from the unit. “… Leavin’ you folks, but this party’s just too rough for us refined, highbrow types t’hang out here any longer!”
“Terran scout,” the voice from the control room interrupted, “you are ordered to –“
Linley’s voice continued without a pause. “An’ my partner, Alan Westover, sends his regrets about Lord What’s-His-Name. He really didn’t want to shoot him, but these things happen. “
“Linley!” The voice from the control room was losing its cool, Gallagher thought. “Damn you!”
“Say ‘bye to our hosts, kid.”
Alan Westover’s voice emerged from the speaker. “Goodbye. Sorry about Lord Pomothvor. Tell your Strike Commander – if you find him.”
The transmission ended. There was a silence, and then the voice from Control spoke, sounding resigned. “The ship just converted to hyperspace.”
Ch’Dreel made a sound somewhere between a gurgle and a chirp, turned and went out. Gallagher went into the back room.
Westover and Linley had covered for him with an explanation that was completely believable, he thought. In fact, it was so believable that Pomothvor’s kin would very likely not question it at all.
Greg Smythe was seated beside Thoroski’s inanimate form. Gallagher moved over to him, glancing at the valet’s worried face. “How is he?”
“I don’t know,” Smythe said. “Looks like a head injury.” The valet’s voice was calm, with just the proper hint of concern. Gallagher jerked a thumb at the door. ”Go help Bennett, Greg. I’ll take over here.”
“Yes, sir. Let me know how he is, will you please?”
“In a few minutes.”
“Thank you, sir.” Smythe went out and Gallagher bent over his Strike Commander, feeling, in spite of himself, a touch of worry. Sven looked terrible – at death’s door, really.
“Sven?”
For an instant, there was no response. Then Thoroski’s eyes opened and one lid fluttered in a wink. A moment later he was still again, his eyes closed, apparently unconscious.
The com spoke. “Shubcommander Ch’Dreel to Dr. Gallagher.”
Gallagher pressed the wall switch. “This is Gallagher.”
“How ish the Shtrike Commander?”
“Bad head injury,” Gallagher informed him. “Severe concussion. You’re going to be commanding the ship for a while, Subcommander – a month at least.”
Thoroski’s lips twitched.
“Will he, perhapsh, be able to give the report of our failed mission to Lord Harthvar and Pomothvor’s relativesh?” Ch’dreel suggested hopefully.
“Certainly not,” Gallagher responded instantly. “He must have complete rest and quiet for two weeks, at the very least.. Sorry, sir.”
There was a pause. Then another half-chirp, half-groan issued from the speaker, just before it switched off.
Thoroski’s smile widened.
**********
Stay tuned for the epilogue.
