Shell Game: 5/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
X
When they re-entered the galley, Alan went directly to work, preparing supper for their noble passengers. Linley watched him with a touch of awe. Alan never so much as glanced at the recipe files as he worked, and he always seemed to know the exact amount of ingredient to add. Linley, a little dubious at the preparation of one dish, pressed a button to check out the ingredients. "Hey, you forgot to add the beno root."
Busy feeding vegetables into the processor, Alan glanced around, his hands never pausing in their work. "I'm going to add it last."
"But, it says to add it now."
Alan shook his head absently. "If I add it now, the flavor will be too strong. Most Jils prefer only a touch of beno flavoring. Also, it's not to be chopped with the rest. You add it whole, then remove it after baking. Then, the flavor's there in just about the strength that Jils like."
Linley gaped at him. "How do you know that?"
"Huh?" Alan obviously had his mind on other things. He thought a moment, his brow furrowed. "I don't know how I know -- I just *do*."
Again, the trays went down, to return empty an hour later. There were relaxing at the table again when the door opened and a Procyon female entered. She wore long, white pantaloons, the waist drawn tightly in, and her head feathers were bound into a topknot by a simple headdress bearing the insignia of a Jilectan Lady. Alan came to his feet.
"Are you looking for me?"
The Procyon paused, surveying him expressionlessly. "You are Steven Graves?"
"Yes."
"I am shent by Lady Jorexzill." The alien presented a folded missive. "She shaid I wash to deliver it pershonally."
Alan betrayed no sign of the uneasiness that Linley knew he must be feeling. He took the missive and studied the message on the gilt-edged paper. No doubt, it was another summons.
Linley's surmise was correct. Alan sighed, glancing at him. "Lady Jorexzill wants to see me. I'll be back soon."
Linley gave a matter-of-fact nod. "Don't do nothin' I wouldn't do."
Alan cocked an eyebrow at him, then turned and followed the Procyon from the cabin.
XI
Lady Jorexzill's suite was located at the far end of the corridor from those of the male scientists, whether by preference or deference to their superior male status, Alan didn't know. The Lady had apparently sensed their approach, for the door slid open as they neared it. The servant stepped courteously back, allowing Alan to precede her. He entered the apartment and stopped, aghast.
The Lady was immersed in a sunken bath, brimming with scented bubbles. The odor was almost overpowering; some flowery scent intermixed with a slight smell of turpentine. Jilectan taste on the subject of perfume differed somewhat from that of Terrans. That, however, did not occupy his mind half so much as the situation. At the sight of the alien's nude shoulders, Alan gulped and dropped to one knee.
"Beg pardon, M'lady. I did not realize you were ..."
The Lady raised a hand, and Alan stopped speaking. Only the most stupid of Terrans could fail to realize what this meant. Jilectan females were noted for their preference for Terran men ...
The Lady spoke. "You may rise, Terran."
Alan did so. "M'lady, if you like, I can come back later."
"Approach me."
Alan did so, his eyes on the carpet. The lady rose from the tub, water streaming from her nude form. Alan couldn't help one glimpse before fixing his eyes on the carpet again.
The Procyon glided into view, a fluffy towel in her clawed fingers, and proceeded to dry the Lady. Alan was aware that she was surveying him approvingly, although he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the carpet.
"Look at me, Terran," the Lady commanded.
Alan did so, telling himself that he could scarcely disobey a direct command. She was now clad in a loose, shimmering robe, tied negligently in the front. The neck gaped open nearly to her navel.
Alan gulped. There was the sound of a door opening, and he saw the Procyon servant vanish discreetly through the exit.
The Lady smiled at him, her red hair shimmering like flames in the subdued lighting of her cabin. "You prepare a delightful meal, Terran," she said, softly. "I must admit, I am pleasantly surprised by the cuisine." She ran a finger down his cheek. "I am even more surprised by your appearance. I expected a fat, dumpy little man, but although you are small, you are neither fat nor dumpy." Her other hand touched his chin. "In fact, I find your appearance rather enticing. Anyone who can cook as you do must be an exciting lover ..."
Alan couldn't quite follow her logic, but it didn't matter. Her purpose was obvious. Visions of his young, pregnant wife back at the station floated in his mind. *Now* what was he going to do?
The Lady was surveying him, a half-smile still on her lips. "Do you not find me attractive, Steven?"
Alan gulped. "You're very beautiful, M'lady," he replied, quite honestly. He could see no way out of this. One did not say no to a Lady if you valued your skin.
The Lady did not touch him, but quite suddenly ht fastening of his jacket came loose. If she got his clothes off, she would see the blaster! Why hadn't he thought to leave it with Mark? He had to distract her, somehow, and get rid of the weapon! He cast frantically about for some sort of distraction.
There was a soft rap on the door. The Lady froze, voicing a soft exclamation of annoyance. The knock sounded again.
Lady Jorexzill turned her head. "Yes?"
"Forgive me, M'lady, but I come from Lord Pilathzor. He is looking for his new cook and the boy's friend said he'd come here."
Alan held his breath. The Lady scowled. "Why does M'lord want him?"
"I don't know, Milady, but he commanded I bring the cook at once."
"Oh, very well." The Lady bent over Alan and gave him a long, passionate kiss on the mouth. "I will see you again very soon, my little Steven."
Alan wished that the Jilectan Ladies would call him something other than "little". He bowed. "Yes, M'lady. I must go now, however." He turned and hurried toward the door, breathing an inaudible sigh for his -- at least for the present -- narrow escape.
A young, Terran servant was waiting there, an amused expression on his face. Alan shut the door behind him, resealing his jacket hastily. The man snickered.
"You know," he remarked, casually, "I've never tumbled a Lady. What's it like?"
"We didn't get that far," Alan said, rather shortly. Most guys would probably be annoyed, and he mustn't do anything out of character. "You interrupted us."
"Oh, I know. But this isn't your first time, is it? You looked awful cool for a beginner."
"Forget it, will you?"
"Sure." The servant paused before Lord Pilathzor's door and touched the bell. "It's Tom, sir. I'm here with Graves."
"Enter."
Alan did so. Lord Pilathzor was reclining on a plush divan, a wineglass in one jeweled hand. He beckoned lazily, and Alan approached to kneel before him.
"I understand Lady Jorexzill summoned you." Pilathzor's voice was expressionless, but Alan swallowed uncomfortably, remembering the penalty for a Terran male guilty of touching a Lady.
"Yes, M'lord," he replied. "She expressed her compliments on the cuisine."
"Of course." Did he detect a hint of amusement in the alien's voice? Alan wasn't sure. "I summoned you, Graves, to inform you that the evening meal was excellent, as was the luncheon. I will be retiring in two hours, but before I do so, I would like a snack sent down -- something simple, but pleasing. Then, for breakfast ..."
Alan remained kneeling as the instructions continued. Lord Pilathzor apparently preferred lavish breakfasts, from all appearance. He hoped sincerely that by "morning", he and Mark would be in a lifeboat, heading for Lavirra on their own, with the message of the impending arrival of "Pride of Galanthzor" already sent.
The instructions ceased at last and Alan inclined his head. "Very good, M'lord."
"You may go, Graves." A slim, sparkling hand gestured, carelessly. "I should advise you, though, to stay away from Lady Jorexzill." The Jilectan's eyes met his. "Am I being clear, Graves?"
"You are, M'lord. And, thank you," Alan said, with real gratitude.
Another wave and Alan found himself retreating out the door. As it closed, the Procyon female appeared, touching his arm. "Gravesh ..."
Alan wished desperately that he had never decided to become a cook for the Jilectans.
"M'lady wishes you to return to her. She hash commanded me to bring you."
Alan shook his head, conveying what he hoped was regret. "I'm sorry. Lord Pilathzor specifically ordered me to stay away from Lady Jorexzill. I can't disobey my master."
The Procyon hesitated, obviously caught between conflicting orders. "Thish ish not good. She will be very angry if I return without you."
"I'm sorry," Alan said, again. "I have my orders."
The Procyon hesitated again, staring into his face with her round, expressionless eyes. "She will not like it," she repeated. "I hope she doesh not hurt me. However ..." with a fatalistic shrug, "there ish nothing to be done. You musht obey your orders ash well." She turned and retraced her steps down the corridor.
Linley was waiting for him as he stepped off the lift. "Everythin' okay?"
Alan shrugged. "Not exactly."
"What happened?"
Alan told him, then glared at his partner as he realized that Linley was trying unsuccessfully to smother a grin. "It's not funny!"
"Sorry." Linley still could not quite hide his amusement. "Well, now what? Things seem to be gettin' kinda tight."
"So I happened to notice," Alan retorted acidly, as they started back toward the galley. "If they don't finish those lifeboats by breakfast, we'll have to take action."
"I'm game," Linley said. "But what?"
"I'll think of something. In the meantime, I'd better get Pilathzor's snack put together."
XII
Alan rang the bell and a servant appeared to take the tray to Lord Pilathzor. Mark poured a cup of coffee. "Want some?"
"Not now." Alan dropped into the chair beside his partner. "I'm just about coffeed out." He glanced at the remainder of the galley crew who were preparing to depart for their sleeping quarters. Leiberman grinned at him.
"Have a good time with the Lady, Graves?"
Alan grunted.
Leiberman dropped into a chair across the table from them. "Aw, don't feel bad, kid. Lady Jorexzill's got a reputation that won't quit."
"I've heard," Mark said, unencouragingly.
"Who hasn't? Can I have some of that coffee, Jesse?"
"Sure." Mark pushed the coffeepot toward him. Leiberman poured himself a cup.
"These Jil Ladies," Leiberman said, reflectively. "Sometimes I wonder how they get away with it -- 'specially the way the Lords feel about it."
Alan had often wondered about it, himself. Mark shrugged.
"Think about it a minute, Franz. The Lords rule the roost 'cause o' tradition, but nobody who's ever met one'd call a Lady a shrinkin' violet, an' the odds are fifteen to one. Can you imagine what they'd do if the Lords started getting' rough about 'em sleepin' with Terrans? 'Sides, the Lords do the same thing. They just ain't as casual about it as the Ladies."
"Yeah, I guess not," Leiberman agreed.
"So," Mark said, "the Lords just look the other way an' pretend it ain't happenin'."
"Yeah," the cook agreed. "I guess it makes a kind of weird sense -- if you're a Jil."
Alan leaned back in his chair, wishing the man would go away. He wanted to talk to Mark alone. The rest of the staff had gone, and the galley was quiet and dim except for the light cell above their table.
Leiberman added sugar to his coffee. "There did you go to school, Graves? I wouldn't mind attending a few classes there, myself, if they turn out cooks like you."
"Cooking school on Terra," Alan said.
"Me, too. I'm a native of Midgard. Which school was it, anyway? Your face looks familiar, somehow."
"Paris," Alan said, taking a name at random. "But I couldn't have been in any cooking class of yours unless you graduated about three years ago."
"I went there, too," Leiberman said. "You're right, though. I guess it must be my imagination."
"Probably," Mark agreed. "He's got the kind of face you see on lots o' people and never notice."
"Thanks a heap," Alan said, but his mind wasn't really on the conversation. Leiberman might be a Jil flunky but he was no dummy. Danger gathered in the air around them.
Mark rose, stretching his hands over his head. "We gotta start early on that breakfast Pilathzor ordered. Let's get some shuteye."
"Right." Alan stood up, too. Leiberman was now watching Mark, thinking that he looked awfully tough to be a cook. More like a very tough 'trol. The man was striving to fit names to the faces before him -- faces that were plastered on every public building and flashed periodically across video screens the length and breadth of the Rovalli Sector. Any minute now ...
Here it came -- the jolt of recognition. Leiberman knew who he was, and in the same instant had identified Mark. The thoughts were not easy to sense, but the emotions were clear. He started to stand up. The Ship Commander must be informed. No telling what these two infamous characters had in mind for the ship and her occupants ...
Alan drew his blaster. "Hold it, Franz."
Leiberman stared at the weapon, unbelieving. "What ..."
"You just recognized us." Alan's voice was soft but definite. "I can't let you inform the Commander or anybody else."
Linley had also drawn his blaster. Leiberman glanced at the former Strike Commander and swallowed. Mark's appearance had not altered outwardly; he still wore the kitchen apron and the insignia of a Jilectan servant, but his expression had hardened. Alan knew that look. The Viceregal Patrolman had surfaced.
Alan spoke, trying to subdue his instinctive sympathy for the man. "Franz, we won't hurt you if you cooperate, but if you even think the wrong thing, I'll kill you."
Leiberman wet his lips. "I'll behave."
Alan nodded. "Now, we'll have to tie you up somewhere safe until the ship reaches the Ladreen system. After that, it won't matter."
"What ... what are you going to do?" Leiberman whispered, and Alan could see thoughts of sabotage running through his mind. It wouldn't do for him to be too frightened. He might try something stupid. Alan flipped a mental coin. Heads won.
"If you behave, the chances are that you'll come out of this alive and unhurt. We don't want to hurt anyone if we don't have to." He paused for effect. "But many thousands of lives depend on our not being caught. I won't sacrifice those lives for you. My wife's is one of them. Do you understand me, Franz?"
Leiberman nodded.
"Good. Then let's be clear. I'm reading your mind, and I'll know it if you lie. Where do you think Mark and I can leave you tied where you won't be found for the next few hours?" He paused again, then added, "Not the storage cabin. The staff cleans there every ship's morning. And don't even think of trying to trick me again."
Leiberman paled. "It's true! You *can* read minds!"
"That's right," Alan said. "You can't lie to me any more than you can to a Jil."
"I won't lie." Leiberman gulped a second time. "It only sort of crossed my mind, you know? How about the locker in the back? They keep stuff for repair work in it -- it probably won't be needed for the next twelve hours. And there's air holes ... that is, if you don't kill me." Again that fear surfaced in his mind.
"We won't kill you," Alan said. "Not unless you force us to do it. Do you know about Terran psychics? Most of us are empaths. I'm particularly strong in that area. I never harm anything if I can avoid it. My reputation was forced on me; I didn't ask for it and I didn't want it. Each time I have killed a Jilectan it was in self defense or defense of a friend. Just don't push me to that point and you're safe." He glanced at his partner. "The storage locker sounds fine. We might punch a few more holes with a needle beam to make sure he has enough air. I have a sleeper kit with me."
"All right." Mark had remained silent during the preceding events. Now he gestured with the blaster. "March, Franz."
They left Leiberman sleeping peacefully in the locker. Mark closed the lid, locked it and pocketed the key. The drug Alan had given him was good for fourteen hours. After that, he would begin to shout and yell for attention, which should bring about his rescue by his shipmates in due time.
"Y'know," Linley said, "when he doesn't show up for work in the mornin', somebody's gonna notice."
"I've been thinking about that," Alan said, slowly. "I've got an idea."
"Yeah?" Linley looked hopeful.
"Yeah. If they still aren't finished with the lifeboats by breakfast, we're going to cause a little distraction."
**********
(tbc)
