Shell Game: 2/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
IV
"So, we reconnected everything and left," Alan finished. "We didn't leave any traces, I'm pretty sure."
"Good." Terrence nodded with satisfaction. "Since the locks are supposed to be psychic proof, they may think it was an unsuccessful try by the Underground." He turned as his daughter entered the room. "Got that information, Shari?"
"Yes, sir. The 'Pride of Galanthzor' is a Viceregal Research ship, like Colonel Linley thought. It's due to depart quite soon, but we couldn't find out where it's headed."
"If the machine's on board, we'll hafta get it," Linley said, decisively. "I got an idea ..."
"We could blow it up," Alan suggested, without enthusiasm.
"Naw," Mark said. "No finesse. I was thinkin' about getting' hold of it, ourselves. It'd sure give our guys a head start."
Terrence looked dubious. "I promised Kaley ..."
"Take it easy," Mark said, reassuringly. "We ain't goin' off on some wild goose chase. We should get the thing. Destroyin' it oughtta be only a last resort."
"I suppose you're right," Terrence agreed, reluctantly. "How are you going to get on the ship?"
"You guys are gonna do it. We'll need some Jil servant uniforms ..."
**********
Mark Linley clutched his cloak tightly around him, swearing softly to himself. If this damned war was ever over, he made a silent vow to himself never to set foot anywhere it snowed, again.
Darkness surrounded him and the surface beneath him jolted sharply. He and Alan had been packed in a crate, and the number on the side had been added to the list of articles bound for the 'Pride of Galanthzor'.
The crate tilted suddenly, throwing him against Alan. His elbow connected with something soft and yielding and Alan bit off a gasp of pain. Faintly, through the sides of the crate, he could hear the men cursing. Someone wanted to know what the hell the Mad Doctor was taking along that could possibly weigh so damn much. Another voice suggested ironically that it was probably bodies for experimental work. The first man cursed some more and again the crate tilted, throwing them both sideways again. Alan grunted between his teeth as Mark landed on him a second time.
"Sorry," he whispered, removing his knee from his partner's stomach.
Alan didn't answer and an instant later, the crate was placed with a jolt on a hard, flat surface. Footsteps moved away.
"You okay?" Linley breathed.
"I think so. I think you gave me a shiner with your elbow."
"Sorry," Linley said, contritely. "Where the hell are we, now?"
"On the landing field. We're stacked with a bunch of other crates about to be loaded."
Mark shivered. "How long are they gonna leave us here?"
"Good question." Alan shivered, too. "They're due to take off in four hours. It shouldn't take too long."
"Sure hope you're right about that." Mark huddled beside him, pulling his cloak tightly around himself.
Minutes crawled by and became an hour. Another hour passed, and still they waited. Several more times they heard voices as men moved around them, stacking more crates and carrying others into the ship. Inside their hiding place, the air was still and very cold. Mark counted the passing seconds, wishing that he had thought to bring along a blanket. It was below freezing in here.
"What's goin' on now" he inquired, at last. "Are they gonna come get us, or ain't they?"
"It shouldn't be long, now." Alan's voice quivered with the cold. "Most of the crates have been loaded. There's just us and two others left."
Mark cursed, softly. "Wish they'd hurry."
At long last, the crate stirred. Mark felt suddenly light as the movers attached an antigrav device to it. They floated gently forward and there was a shivering sensation as the field was deactivated. The crate jolted hard, and Mark's head cracked against the side. He saw stars.
"You okay?" Alan whispered.
"Yeah." Mark rubbed his offended skull. "I thought we were supposed to be marked fragile."
"We are."
Movement and sound outside the crate told Mark that there were still people around. Somebody stumbled and cursed, and something heavy fell to the deck. Alan moved convulsively.
"Mark!" he hissed. "There's a Jil coming!"
Mark put his shields up instantly, sweat starting out on his forehead. There were a lot of other Terrans around, he reassured himself. Hopefully, the Jil wouldn't detect him, if he wasn't looking for him. Beside him, Alan was as tense as a coiled spring.
"M'lord!" There was a surprised exclamation from someone. Sudden silence fell, then there were soft, rapid footsteps and a distinctively accented voice reached them.
"I am informed that you have been treating my equipment very roughly, Foreman Savage." There was the sound of a blow. "You will be careful with my equipment, and so will your men, Foreman, for if any damage occurs, I will hold you personally responsible." Another blow. "Do you understand, Terran?"
"Yes, M'lord." The reply was muffled.
"The pieces over there are not secured well, I see. They will certainly be damaged during takeoff!"
"I'm sorry, M'lord. We were going to --" The sentence was cut off abruptly with a grunt of pain. M'lord's voice spoke again.
"You will arrange them over here, where they will be better protected!"
"Yes, M'lord!" The word ended in a squeak.
"And the synthesizer -- it should also be better protected."
"Yes, M'lord ..." The word was succeeded by a loud thump. Somebody groaned.
Their crate was lifted and heaved across the hold. Around them were sounds of heavy objects being moved from place to place, and the strident voice of the Jilectan, commanding the men to be careful. Time dragged by. Mark gritted his teeth, wishing they would hurry. Alan and he would need some time to find the model and get off the ship. Damn that damned Jil! From the sounds, he must be making them rearrange everything!
Someone stumbled and there was a loud thump, succeeded by a shattering sound and the tinkle of some small, broken part. The Jilectan gave a shriek of horror, and there was the clatter of feet. Somebody cried out.
Savage's voice sounded nervous and apologetic. "I'm sorry, sir, but it's broken."
The alien gibbered slightly. "You fool! You idiot! I will kill you!"
There was a breathy cry. Then, the voice of a second Jilectan cut in. "Release the Terran, Dilexvor!"
There was a sudden silence.
"Release him!" the voice repeated.
Dilexvor's voice, again. "He smashed the lens on my --"
"It can be replaced." The reply was cold. "I am certain he will be glad to pay for it, will you not, Terran?"
"Yessir!" a voice stammered. "M'lord, please ..."
"Release him, Dilexvor."
Dilexvor's voice, sputtering with fury. "Mind your own affairs, Brexvor! These are my servants, and if ..."
"They are of no use to you dead."
"This one is of no use *alive*!" The reply was nearly a scream. "You mind your own affairs, Tree-slime! If I wish to kill my servants, I shall do so!"
The conversation changed suddenly from Basic to the Jilectan language, of which Linley understood only a little. The voices escalated and someone -- a Terran, he thought -- yipped, shrilly. Something heavy crashed violently to the deck.
"M'lords!" It was a horrified Terran voice. Another crash shook the deck.
"Smith!" Again it was the Terran. "Go get Lord Pilathzor! Hurry!"
Footsteps clattered out, and the crashes and thumps continued. Something smashed brittlely somewhere, and Dilexvor's voice shrieked in fury. He jabbered something in Jilectan. Brexvor's voice answered his, sounding quite as angry as that of his fellow. Dilexvor's voice interrupted his, shrieking curses, and against him, Mark could feel Alan shaking with silent laughter.
For perhaps two minutes the noises continued, then a third Jilectan's voice, authoritative and angry, cut into the racket, speaking in tones of shock and outrage. The noises ceased abruptly.
The newcomer spoke for perhaps a minute. Alan continued to shake with laughter.
At last, the sounds ceased, and footsteps retreated.
"Man!" It was a Terran voice, speaking in hushed tones. "That Jil has got to be the craziest I've ever met! You okay, Butterfield?"
"Yeah." The voice they had heard before sounded shaken. "Thought sure he was going to kill me."
"Yeah, me too. Look, you better go get that lens replaced. Hurry up. There ain't much time left."
"Yeah." Footsteps retreated, and Mark shifted uneasily. Time was getting short. If these guys stalled around much longer, he and Alan might get caught on the ship during takeoff.
Another hour went by as the men worked, and the broken equipment was replaced. After what seemed an age, there was silence. Alan stirred.
"I think we're okay. I'm going to lower my shields."
"Careful."
There was a moment of silence, then a sudden clang.
"It's okay," Alan said. "That was the last man just leaving." He paused. "There. He just sealed the cargo hatch behind him."
"Then let's get movin'."
"I am. Hold on -- I'm unsealing the crate."
Linley waited. There was a faint click, then Alan's voice. "It's open."
Mark eased the top of their hiding place open and flicked on his hand light, peering around. They were in the hold of the Viceregal Research vessel. All about them were the dim bulks of boxes and irregular shapes of strange machines. He glanced at his partner. Alan's face was a vague outline in the dimness.
"Can you find it?"
"I think so. Can I borrow you a minute?"
Linley extended a hand. Alan gripped his wrist and at once there was the familiar sensation of a power drain. Seconds ticked by. Alan turned slowly to the left. "Over there, I think."
He began to walk slowly across the hold, Linley steering him around obstacles. All at once he stopped, his hand resting on a large crate. "This is it."
Mark flashed his light over it. "We can't lift it. Got the antigrav units?"
Alan was already digging into his backpack. "Right here. Let's move. We're running out of time."
"You're tellin' me." Linley took one of the units, attaching one to either side of the crate. Together, the lifted it and started for the cargo hatch.
"Can you unseal it okay?" he asked.
"I think so." Alan sounded worried. "If I have the time."
A warning siren began to sound, and the ship started to vibrate. The repulsers were firing. Linley swore savagely as the whine of engines grew louder, and the vessel quivered. If they were to try to leave the ship now, the repulser field would shred their bodies into atoms in seconds. He felt Alan's link with him close with an almost audible snap.
"Mark! It's too late!"
Mark set the crate down and snapped off his antigrav unit. "Flat on the deck! Quick!"
Alan was already moving as he spoke. He flung himself flat on the metal of the deck, cushioning his head on his hands. The ship quivered more vigorously, then there was the heaviness of acceleration for ten long seconds before the artificial gravity field clicked in.
Linley sat up slowly. Alan also pushed himself up, his green eyes glowing in the thin beam of the hand light. They met each other's gaze wordlessly.
After almost a minute, Alan spoke. "Are we ever in it now. If we get out of this alive, Kaley's going to kill us."
"If he don't," Linley said, unhappily, "Terry will. What the hell do we do now?"
Alan laughed shakily. "Stowing away wasn't exactly the plan, was it? Oh well, like you always say ..."
"'Act like we own the place an' people will think we do.' At least we're dressed for the part."
Alan, Linley noted, had adapted to the new situation with his usual readiness. There was a slight jolt as the ship converted to hyperspace. Linley rose to his feet, brushing dirt and sawdust from his attire. Alan was doing the same. His partner flashed his own hand light over the crate. "Guess we better move this thing back where it belongs, for now, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess. Wouldn't look good for the flunkies to find it sittin' right in front o' the hatch ..." Mark started to reach for his antigrav control when Alan grabbed his arm.
"Somebody's coming! Back to the crate!"
Linley yanked the antigrav unit hastily free and scrambled for the crate in which they had come aboard. As he reached it, the doors began to open and light poured into the hold.
Alan hadn't reached him, yet. Mark hesitated an agonizing instant, saw Alan dive behind stacked crates of unidentified equipment, and pulled the lid shut. The locking mechanism clicked automatically. He was sealed in.
**********
(tbc)
