Shell Game: 3/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
V
Alan Westover crouched behind bulky equipment, making himself as small as possible. The antigrav unit in his hands had unaccountably stuck to the side of the crate, making him pause to detach it. Leaving it attached to the item they had come to steal had not seemed like such a good idea, but it had delayed him too much to reach safety. Softly, he eased the blaster from its shoulder holster under the servant's jacket, wondering briefly if he was linked to his partner again. It wouldn't surprise him if he was.
The hatch slid open and two men entered the cargo hold with a leisurely stride. One of them was speaking, his voice carrying the unmistakable accent of a Shallockian native.
"...Hope nothin' got busted. Savage says Dilexvor was havin' a hemorrhage 'cause Butterfield dropped somethin' an' busted it ... Hey! Why the hell ain't this thing tied down? The Mad Scientist'd have a fit if he saw this ..."
"Dunno." The second man sounded bored. "Somebody must have forgot."
"Damned lucky for you it didn't get messed up. This thing's his pride an' joy. D'you feel like tellin' him somebody ain't treatin' it with kid gloves -- didn't even tie it down durin' takeoff? Gimmie a hand with it. We better get it fastened in safe."
There were sounds of effort as the two men strained and grunted, trying to move the unwieldy crate. Alan remained perfectly still, breathing quietly. At last there was a harder thud, then silence. The Shallockian spoke.
"There. Hope it's okay. If somethin' turns up busted, you an' me can be someplace else 'til the storm blows over. I don't wanta be noplace nearby when His Lordship throws a tantrum."
"I know what you mean," the other man agreed. "This is going to be some trip with both of them on board."
"Huh? Who?"
"You mean you haven't heard?" The second man's voice held a laugh. "Dilexvor *and* Brexvor, both on the same ship. I got the story from a guy at the Planetary University who saw it. The two of 'em hate each other's guts. Two scientists with differing viewpoints, you know? Whenever they get together, one of 'em always ends up taking a poke at the other one. Savage says they were having a knock-down drag-out in here a while ago. Poor old Pilathzor had to come stop it." He laughed, a little maliciously. "Benny told me that about a year ago, he was helping cater some classy wingding at the university with a bunch of visiting eggheads and some upper class Ladies and Lords. The two of them got a little pickled and started yelling insults at each other, and Brexvor tried to drown Dilexvor in the punchbowl. Embarrassed Lord Somebody-or-other -- head of the Physics Department -- in front of some bigwig: second cousin of the Viceroy's third wife, I think he said. They both got fined and put on administrative leave, but it didn't help a bit."
"No kiddin'," the Shallockian said. "Sounds like a fun trip, all right. How far away *is* Ladreen, anyway?"
"About twenty hours, I think. Maybe a little more."
Alan's heart lunged into his throat. Ladreen! The Ladreen system, supposedly uninhabited, was actually the home of the Earth-like planet, Lavirra, where one of the three main Underground bases had been established almost a decade and a half ago. It was their own home, along with their wives, not to mention thousands of psychic men, women and children.
Mark must have heard the conversation, too. Alan swallowed his heart and tried to think calmly. His partner would know what to do. He always did.
"Looks like that's about it," the Shallockian said, dusting his hands off. "Everythin' else is okay. You ready for some coffee?"
"Yeah ..."
The two men went out, still talking, and the hatch clicked shut behind them. Alan stood up, finding his knees unexpectedly weak. "Come on out, Mark. They're gone."
"I can't," Linley's voice said, slightly muffled by the intervening sides of the crate. "It's locked."
"Oh." Alan felt a little silly. "Sorry." He unlocked the crate and pulled it open. Linley emerged, his handsome face pale in the illumination of Alan's hand light.
"Did you catch what they were sayin', kid?"
"I sure did! They're on their way to Ladreen! What do we do now?"
"I ain't sure." Linley scowled at nothing. "We gotta think o' somethin'."
"Maybe they won't notice Lavirra," Alan suggested, weakly.
Linley snorted, derisively. "Sure they won't. An' I'm first cousin to the Viceroy. These research expeditions always check out the planets in favorable orbits to find the best one for their base of operations. 'Sides, Lavirra ain't even s'posed to be there. One scan o' the system an' they'll pick it up -- and report it habitable."
Alan sighed. "Sorry, Mark. I was making a dumb joke. We've got to warn the base -- somehow."
"Yeah. If we don't, they're gonna have the Patrol knockin' on the front door before they can evacuate. Any ideas?"
"Well ... I think maybe we'd better get out of here, first." Alan looked around at the stacks of equipment. "If this Lord Dilexvor is as picky as he seemed, he's going to be fussing over this stuff all the way. We can't be ducking into that crate every time somebody shows up. Sooner or later, they'll catch us."
"Yeah," Linley said. "Let's get outta here before anybody else comes nosin' around. Take a look an' see if it's clear."
Alan was already checking. He envisioned the outer hallway, acutely aware of unshielded Jilectan minds not far away. The aliens were unlikely to detect him, however, unless actively scanning for a Terran psychic. He closed his shielding rather quickly.
"It's clear." Again, he dropped the protective mental screen and concentrated on the locking mechanism. It was not constructed to resist psychics and the bolt moved easily beneath his mental fingers. The hatch slid aside with a squeak that sounded like a blaster shot to his ears.
But, nobody appeared to investigate. They stepped quickly through, closing the panel and locking it behind them. Alan took a deep breath. If anyone saw them now, they should be taken for nothing more than Jil flunkies.
"Where are we?" he asked.
Linley studied a map layout on the bulkhead. "Nice of 'em to give us directions. Looks like we're on the Sixth deck, along with Engineerin' Maintenance and the lifeboats."
"Lifeboats," Alan said, thoughtfully. "Do you think we might ..."
"We can sure try." Linley turned and started toward the lifeboat hangar. If they could manage to steal one of the little escape craft, they could use it to send a warning to their people and the evacuation could begin at once. The sooner the base was warned, the better their chances would be of completing the evacuation before the Patrol could arrive.
As they proceeded, they began to encounter more people -- hurrying techs and Jilectan servants on errands of one sort or another. No one paid them much attention. These were Jil flunkies, too occupied with pleasing their masters to worry about two bored-looking maintenance men.
The lifeboat hangars opened on both sides of the corridor and Linley started to enter the nearest one, then stopped at the sight that met him. He stepped out into the corridor again. "Damn!"
"What's the matter?"
"Place is fulla techs. Maybe one of the others ..."
"No." Alan was scanning. "They're servicing all the lifeboats."
"Well, they should be done, pretty soon."
"I'm afraid not," Alan said, regretfully. "It's not just a routine check. The Jil scientists are going to be using them when they reach Ladreen. They're doing a detailed run-through of all the systems. Mark, I used to *do* this kind of stuff when I was at the Academy. Remember, I told you I worked in Maintenance and Repair to earn money for my Academy tuition. It'll take at least fifteen hours -- maybe more, if they find anything wrong. There's six techs in there, and at least as many working on each of the other lifeboats."
"That's cuttin' it awful close. The whole damn trip don't take more'n twenty-one hours, even in one o' these crates." Linley sighed resignedly. "We'll hafta think o' somethin' else ... unless we tackle the techs."
Alan shook his head. "Not with four Jils on board. If anyone managed to sound the alarm, we'd never get away."
"*Four* Jils? I thought there was only three. Who's the fourth?"
"Lady Jorexzill. The guy I read apparently thinks she's a scientist."
Linley raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Lady Jorexzill? No kiddin'?"
Alan nodded. "That's the name I picked up. But, Ladies don't become scientists, do they?"
"Yeah, a few of them do." Linley was grinning for some reason that Alan didn't understand. "Not many of them are successful, but you can bet the ones who do succeed are four times as sharp as the guys in the same job. Jorexzill's one of 'em. I met her once." He touched a scar above his right eye. "See that scar?"
"I've noticed it. Why?"
"It was M'lady that put it there."
"Oh, really?" Alan raised his eyebrows. "What did you do to earn that?"
"Not what you're thinkin', buddy." Linley turned away from the lifeboat hangars. "Let's find some place a bit less open."
"Good idea." Alan followed him back the way they had come. Crewmen and maintenance workers passed them, hardly glancing at them. Alan snagged his partner's sleeve. "How about hydroponics?" He indicated a closed door to their left. "There's nobody there."
"Good idea." Linley pressed the button on one side of the door. It opened and they entered, together.
Hydroponics supplied two functions aboard a starship: oxygen for the crew and passengers to breathe, and fruits and vegetables for their diets -- particularly, Alan was aware, fresh produce for the pampered palates of their noble passengers.
He sniffed the air. Aside from the scent of chemicals, he could smell a mixture of fresh odors that suggested the outdoors. Some were familiar, some strange. He glanced around. "What now?"
Linley was rummaging through a metal cabinet. "There oughtta be some ... ah, here they are." He removed two bright, yellow aprons, somewhat stained, from the recess. "Here, put this on."
Alan received the article and found a pair of large, elbow-length gloves thrust into his hands as well, followed by a hood-like garment. He wiggled into the odd apparel. What's this stuff for?"
"Hydroponics gear. If anybody comes in, they'll figure we belong here."
Alan made a face. "Typical Jil color scheme. I think these gloves will fit you better. That pair you're holding look more my size."
Linley attempted to insert a hand into the glove he held, then grinned, handing it to Alan. "you're right, as usual. You take these."
Alan did so. "I think that pair are still too small, Mark. Try the next drawer down."
Linley did so, without protest. Two gloves emerged. Linley put them on without comment at the perfect fit. Alan didn't smile.
Beyond the dressing room was another door. Alan pushed it open and stared at the huge vats of algae. "I don't know much about hydroponics, Mark."
"That makes two of us, kid." Linley nudged him from behind. "Looks like another room over there on the left. Let's take a look."
They entered the vat room, skirting their way around the big containers of algae, and pushed open the door that Mark had indicated. Alan sniffed as the scents he had detected before came to him again, much stronger now. Mark whistled, softly.
"Looks like we hit pay dirt, kid."
"What are you talking about?"
Linley squeezed past him into the room, waving at the masses of greenery. "Nothin' but the choicest collection of exotic fruit that I've ever had the chance t'see, all grown with lovin' care for our distinguished lords and masters." He reached out, plucking a large, juicy-looking plum from the nearest branch, and took a big bite. "Mmm. I love plums. Stole one from a street vendor when I was eight, an' I was hooked from then on." He took another bite and juice squirted. "Delicious. Have one."
Alan accepted the offering. "Tell me about Lady Jorexzill, Mark."
"Sure." Linley seated himself on the floor, next to a mass of carefully cultivated strawberry plants -- in a large, wooden tub, no less. "She's a real pretty Lady: flamin' red hair, tall, an' awful good-lookin'. Rich, too, even though she's a middle classer. She traveled on the 'Wolverine', once, right after I made Strike Commander." He grinned reminiscently. "Like I said before, she's a scientist, and she's damn sharp. Got more brains than most o' the guys. She don't sparkle like the noble Ladies, but she don't need to. If you see her, you'll know why." He picked a strawberry from a nearby vine and popped it into his mouth, munching thoughtfully. "Well, like I said, she was on the 'Wolverine'. We were on our way to check out some old time radio signals that musta been sent centuries back, and she was one of the Jils, along with a couple o' Lords. They expected to find some species that'd sent the message, but instead, they found a planet burned clean o' life and fulla radiation. Whoever sent the message sure wasn't around to say hello, anyway. Musta been a war quite a ways back. They'd killed themselves off."
Alan shuddered. "That's terrible!"
Linley shrugged indifferently. "Yeah, I guess. Anyway, we headed back with a party of bored, disappointed Jils. I came down with the flu, too -- man, was I sick! I started feelin' lousy in the control room an' called Wolly to come relieve me. He said he was comin' --" Linley grinned. "But he didn't show. I got irritated an' called him again. He didn't answer."
Alan leaned forward, interested. Since Strike Commander Andrei Wolenski had come to the Terran Underground, Alan had come to know the former patrolman as an extremely conscientious officer. "Where was he?"
"I'm comin' to that. I finally got really steamed and turned command over to Elliott, then headed for my quarters, thinkin' uncharitable thoughts about my second-in-command. I passed his door, an' saw it was open a crack -- an' Wolly's voice comin' out."
Alan plucked a strawberry, chewing and swallowing absently. "So, what did you do?"
Linley chuckled. "Stupidest stunt o' my career. I walked in, swearin' at Wolly. An' there was Wolly in his bunk -- with Lady Jorexzill."
Alana choked on strawberry. "Oh, man!"
"Yeah," Linley said, ruefully. "M'lady jumped up with a yell like a Shallockian sand-boar an' came at me like she was gonna kill me. That's when she gave me my scar."
"What did you *do*?"
"Picked myself up off the deck and backed out, apologizin' all the way."
"What happened to Wolly?"
"He didn't say nothin'. He *couldn't*. The Lady kicked me out an' shut the door." He shook his head. "That Jil was really somethin' else. She sure liked Wolly, though. I went to the doc an' got my face stitched up an' took some cold capsules, then called Elliott. Had poor ol' Wolly assigned to 'special duty' to keep M'lady happy. She spent the whole return trip with him."
"Good grief!"
"Yeah, I know what you're thinkin'. Wolly's a nice guy, but nobody's gonna call him a pretty boy."
"I guess the Lady saw something we don't," Alan said, comfortingly. "I wouldn't worry about it, Romeo."
Linley made a face and threw a strawberry at him. Alan dodged, snagged it deftly out of the air and popped it into his mouth. "What's that stuff? I've never seen it before." He nodded to a deep tub containing a plant that consisted mostly of fluffy, pinkish-green leaves.
Linley poked at a frond. "Dunno. What do they have growin' on 'em?"
"Some big, green pods." Alan reached beneath the leaves and snapped off a bunch. "Here."
"Hey!" Mark grabbed the bunch. "You know what these *are*?"
Alan wiped sap from his palm onto the yellow apron. "I just said I didn't."
"These are Vik pods!"
"No kidding?" Alan stared at the objects. "I've heard of them, but I've never seen any, before."
"I'll bet. The Jils don't share 'em with the riff raff." Mark broke open one of the pods and shook the contents into one palm.
Vik pods were a delicacy, and although Alan had never tasted them, he knew their history well. The tiny beans within the pods were renowned for their delicious flavor as well as their high alcohol content. The plants were cultivated exclusively in Jilectan greenhouses, although the black market did a brisk business with them. The tiny beans always went for staggering prices, but annoyingly, all seeds so obtained had so far proven infertile. Everything possible had been tried, exhaustive tests had been done on the few specimens available, and so far without success. The Jilectans obviously knew the secret but the aliens had managed to keep it to themselves. Lord Revexvor, the great, great grandfather of the present Lord Revolthvor, had made his family fortune and received a noble title by developing multiple variants and hybrids of Vik pods to grace Jilectan cuisine.
Linley gazed longingly at the beans in his palm. "I've never tasted one. I'd sure like to try 'em."
Alan hesitated. "I don't think you should, Mark. If anyone came in here and found us, then smelled alcohol on your breath, he'd know we'd been messing with the Vik pods. Put them in your pocket. You can try them once we're safe."
"Yeah, I s'pose so." Linley grinned and reluctantly slipped them into the inner pocket of his servant uniform. "I'll give 'em to Jul when we get back. Bet she's never tasted any, either ..." His expression brightened. "Hey, look! Tasha-globes! I ain't had one o' these in ages!" He plucked one of the large, golden fruits from the carefully-tended mass of vines and split it in half. It burst open, its center glowing ruby red in the artificial lighting. "Want half?"
Alan accepted his share dubiously. "I've never tasted one. They smell awfully good." His mouth watered at the delicious aroma wafting upward from the fruit.
Mark's mouth was already full. Alan took a cautious bite, then lost his hesitation, devouring the crisp pulp with enthusiasm. "Gosh, these are good! Where do they come from?"
"Ceregon. The Fish don't like the flavor, though."
"Really?" Alan licked juice from his fingers. "I guess I'll never understand Arcturians."
"To each his own," Linley said, around a mouthful. "They think we're nuts to cook our food the way we do. Some of the stuff they eat is enough to turn my stomach. Have you ever seen esa-chan-sheel served? They like it still wigglin' when it goes down."
Alan shuddered.
Hours went by while they talked idly. Alan began to feel drowsy at last and had to shake himself awake. Linley glanced at him.
"Go ahead an' take a nap. I'll keep watch."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I'll wake you up in three hours and you can watch while I snooze."
"Well ... all right."
He awoke with Linley shaking him. "Wake up, kid. Somebody's comin'."
He scrambled to his feet, sensing at once the unshielded minds of two men. Linley was bending industriously over the vines of the Tasha-globes. "Look busy."
"Right." Alan knelt beside the strawberry tub, beginning to pick dead leaves from the greenery. "Here they come."
**********
(tbc)
