Shell Game: 9/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
XXV
Fleet Commander Mitchell Edwards was worried. The Subcommander of the 'Nova' had assured him that everything was under control, but something was nagging at him, some small, inner voice telling him that all was *not* right, that, on the contrary, something was very, very wrong.
Osborne was speaking to him now from the 'Nova', sounding apologetic. "I'm sorry, sir. We've had an occasional small ship sniping at us since we chased off their main fleet -- if you could call it that. I'm just glad M'lord decided to stay here. We'll get the guy."
Edwards fidgeted, then sighed, watching the tactical display. His six pursuit ships were gaining on the scout, would, in fact, be within firing range in seconds. The four pursuit ships launched from the 'Nova' were closing in from the side. The pirate didn't stand a chance ...
He sat up straight all at once. The trajectory of the other ships was odd, to say the least ...
"Osborne!" he barked. "Order your ships to ..."
A burst of profanity erupted from the speaker. "What the *hell* do you think you're doing, you --" A string of obscenities followed. "Get the *hell* outta the way! I almost had him!"
"He iss mine," an Arcturian voice replied. "Go home, flyboy. I do not like amateurss in my sspace. Zesse pirates need a sharp lesson."
More profanity, intermingled with other voices, in which the words "Damn fishheaded jerk" were the most printable. On the tactical, Edwards saw the scout ship, followed by its pursuers, vanish over the curve of the planet's horizon. He looked across at his control room Jilectan, Lord Snathvor. The alien's cold, grey eyes met his.
"Those pilots dispatched by the 'Nova' will be executed upon return to their ship, Fleet Commander," Snathvor announced, in tones that made a chill run up Edwards' spine. "They prevented our men from executing their mission."
"Yes, M'lord." Edwards sighed, mentally. Snathvor hated Terrans. The only species he hated more were Arcturians.
The officer at the communications board glanced around apologetically. "Sir, your Viceregal news correspondents are getting restless below decks. They want to know what's going on."
"Tell them 'nothing'." Edwards suppressed irritation. Lord Hanthzar, the Chief of Jilectan Military Affairs, had ordered them taken along, so of course Edwards hadn't argued, but he regarded the newsmen as a severe pain in the posterior. He had thrown one of the inquisitive so-and-sos out of his control room twice, already.
He surveyed the tactical screen again, uneasiness crawling on his scalp. Somehow, somewhere, something was wrong. All his instincts said so, although he could not pin down where.
"Notify Osborne to stand by to receive a Viceregal Readiness Inspection Team," he said, suddenly. "Something's funny, here. I want to see what it is."
**********
Edward Burke glanced at Stewart. "Message from Colonel Westover, sir. Commander Linley says to take the inspection team if you can. He'll have the Fleet standing by, just in case."
"Oh, yeah?" Stewart felt a twinge of irritation. "And what the hell am I supposed to tell Edwards?"
The psychic told him. Jeff stared at him a long moment. "You're not serious."
Eddie nodded, grinning a little. Stewart echoed his grin. "Well, I guess it can't hurt."
"Nope. I mean, 'No, sir'. We're to try to keep their attention while the transports attempt to sneak out on the other side of the planet. Commander Linley doesn't think we're going to be able to get rid of them, now, but we can confuse 'em long enough to get most of the ships out."
Stewart shook his head slowly. "All right." He turned to his communications officer. "Ch'Vir, have the men in Patrol uniform report to the seventh deck to welcome our visitors. Tell Sergeant Tannir to convey my respects to the officers and request that they meet me in the Officers' Lounge to discuss things."
The Procyon voiced a peculiar cackle and turned to his board. Stewart raised an eyebrow at Holly Stevens, his control room psychic, stationed just out of range of the viewscreen pickup, then turned to Edward Burke.
"Ed, you go down to the lounge and get it set up for the squad leaders. Have Captain Stinnir put on a sublieutenant's uniform and have him and Dahlgren report to the lounge, right away."
"Yes, sir." The psychic departed in haste. Stewart took a deep breath. "Holly, ask Colonel Westover what to tell Edwards about those pursuit ships of his."
Holly looked worried. "All right, sir, but I have to be careful. Milthvar said Lord Snathvor is on the 'Peacemaker'. If he picks me up, it's all over."
"Oh." Stewart hesitated. "Well, if you think it's too dangerous ..."
"Not if I'm careful. Snathvor isn't a very good telepath. He's mostly a clairvoyant." Holly's face went blank, momentarily. "Colonel Westover says not to worry. He's got somebody on it."
The 'Avenger', one of the five other ships in the 'Nova's' squadron, had been under the command of Strike Commander Hilary. It was now commanded by Major Timmar of the Terran Underground. Ch'Vir turned suddenly in his chair. "I am resheiving a meshage from Major Timmar's communicationsh offisher, shir. He requeshts permission to purshue the pirate."
"Relay permission." Stewart frowned. "Tell the others to fan out in pincer formation. We'll want to try to prevent further escapes." This, of course, was for the benefit of the Patrol fleet. Watching the tactical display, Stewart saw his squadron break up. The "Avenger" accelerated in a long, curving trajectory to vanish behind the planet.
"Two boarding shuttles approaching," Lieutenant Rrhitt reported.
"Ch'Vir," Stewart instructed, "remind them that they should land in our cargo bay. If things get out of hand we can blow the hatch before they get into the main body of the ship."
K'Pah, Stewart's executive officer, clacked his beak together in the only gesture of nervousness that Stewart had ever seen him make, but he glanced professionally at his commander. "All shquad leadersh report ready, shir."
"Good. I'll be in the lounge, waiting for the brass in charge."
"Aye, shir." Ch'Vir swiveled his head around 180 degrees. "Shir, Commander *Hilary* reportsh that a number of 'pirate vessels' have attacked the purshuit craft and requeshtsh help."
Stewart wondered what Colonel Westover had told Timmar aboard the 'Avenger'. "Send the 'Jackboar' and the 'Corala' to help the 'Avenger' deal with them," he ordered. The two battlecruisers peeled off instantly. They would join Timmar's ship in guarding the escape corridor taken by the Lavirran transports on their way out and hopefully leave the Patrol fleet in some doubt about exactly which ship they might occasionally pick up on a long range scan.
"Shuttles locking on," Rrhitt announced, in the full, resonant, perfectly enunciated English of a trained orator. The Tormheit's four tentacles played delicately over the scanner board. "I read a full platoon of men in each shuttle, sir."
"All right." Stewart wished his mouth weren't so dry, and was unexpectedly glad that his control room psychic was not an empath. "Rrhitt, I want you to monitor the conversation in the officer's lounge. Pay special attention to the voices of our two guests." He looked around. "Take over, K'Pah."
"Aye, shir." The Procyon's round, dark eyes met his expressionlessly. "Good luck."
"Good luck to all of us," Jeff said. He went out, the Patrol helmet swinging by its strap.
**********
Alan glanced nervously at his partner. Linley was leaning back in the command chair, chin on fist, watching his tactical display. His face, to a non-psychic, was unreadable and Alan did not try to penetrate his shielding. Strike Commander Linley, he thought, a trifle enviously. Mark was in his element in a battle of wits and, if the situation had not been so grim, Alan knew he would have been enjoying himself immensely.
Linley glanced at him. "What's the situation down there?" he asked.
"The first transport is maneuvering around to the escape corridor," Alan told him, relaying Cadet Linley's report. "They're about to boost."
"Good. Tell 'em to make it fast and stay inside the corridor. If anybody spots 'em, the jig's up."
"They know it, sir." Alan felt himself grin, nervously. "There they go. Timmar reports he just got the last of the pursuit ships. Pinnar's ship just landed on the 'Corala'. That leaves three from the 'Nova' to come back."
"Good. How's the transport doin'?"
"Breaking atmosphere. Lyn reports Julia's doing fine. She says 'good luck'."
"Tell her thanks."
"I did. Cadet Linley reports they're boosting to top sublight. Hyperspace in forty seconds." He paused, letting the seconds tick away in silence. "Conversion!" he announced. "They just went into hyperspace."
There was a cheer from the bridge crew. Linley gave a thumbs-up sign. "Great. Tell 'em to keep comin' as fast as they can. Now, if Jeff can just pull off his part ..."
**********
Jeffery Stewart, alias Subcommander Osborne, received the officers commanding the inspection team in the Officers' Lounge.
One was a sublieutenant, obviously new to his rank, the other a lieutenant. Monitoring their communications on his Patrol helmet, Stewart knew that the two platoons were under orders to spread out and search the ship. It wouldn't take long to realize that there were far too few patrolmen on board, even with the others out of sight, and that something was drastically wrong, he knew. His own men had certain orders, too, and it was up to him to keep the two Patrol officers relaxed and talking until those orders were accomplished.
As the two patrolmen appeared a bit warily in the doorway, he stood up, Aaron Dahlgren and Stinnir beside him. Edward Burke appeared magically to usher the men inside.
Stewart's, Stinnir's and Dahlgren's helmets lay on one of the tables nearby, and coffee cups and saucers had been placed in front of vacant places around the table across from Stewart. A tall glass of fruit juice sat conspicuously in front of the Arcturian.
Ed escorted them to the table. Stewart waved them toward the chairs.
"Sit down, gentlemen," he invited, suiting his actions to his words. "We might as well be comfortable while your men check us out. What the hell's going on, anyway?"
The sublieutenant glanced hesitantly at the other officer, who harrumphed uncomfortably.
Stewart indicated the chairs again, then appeared to recollect his manners. "These are Sublieutenant Wilson and Sublieutenant Cannar, Chief Engineer and Chief of Security respectively. It's all right -- not your fault. Sometimes I think the top brass are all a bit paranoid these days. Goes with the job, I suppose." He grinned wryly. "What bothers me is I've found myself starting to think that way, too, now and then."
The lieutenant also grinned, if a bit reluctantly, removed his helmet and seated himself at the table. The sublieutenant did likewise. Ed Burke poured the coffee with a flourish.
Stewart gestured to the cream and sugar. "Help yourselves, gentlemen. It's the real stuff, I assure you." He poured cream into his coffee cup. He glanced casually at Ed. "What's the latest on the Old Man, Eddie?"
The psychic shook his head. "He's sleeping, sir. I was down to see him a little while ago, but the doc wouldn't let me disturb him."
Stewart sighed. "Man, I hope he comes out of it soon. This is turning into a real ..." He broke off. "Lord Dilexvor and Lord Brexvor have been feuding ever since we picked them up from the planet," he remarked. "Lord Pilathzor has ordered them to go back with your shuttles ... one in each shuttle, to keep them from killing each other before they get to the 'Peacemaker'. I know what a headache it is for you guys, but it'll be a relief to get 'em off the 'Nova' before one of 'em massacres the other."
The lieutenant made a face. "Just what we need," he said, "but I guess old Snathvor'll be able to handle 'em when we get there."
"Good luck to him," Stewart said, a little dryly. "Dilexvor tried to knife Brexvor a while ago -- some dispute over a servant, I understand. Pilathzor's had it, and frankly, so have I. I've got more important things to do than keep a pair of nutty scientists from killing each other." He raised his coffee cup. "I'd do this with wine, but we're all on duty. Cheers, gentlemen."
The officers drank and the lieutenant smacked his lips. "That's great coffee," he said. "Beats the stuff in the mess hall by a thousand kilometers."
"Some of the Squadron Commander's private stock," Stewart said. "I borrowed it for the occasion. Ed," he said, in an aside, "have the lounge steward deliver a bottle of Mombasa's best moonwine to the shuttles. Maybe that'll keep their Lordships happy until they get back to the 'Peacemaker'."
"Yes, sir," Ed acknowledged. This, of course, had been pre-arranged -- their ticket to capture the shuttle pilots. Now, if the pilots called their platoon leaders for confirmation, they would receive it. Ed went back into the kitchen for a moment to signal the waiting men, re-emerging almost instantly with a plate of coffeecake, which he proceeded to serve to the officers.
The lieutenant took a cautious fork full and raised his eyebrows. The sublieutenant followed suit.
For some minutes, the men sipped their coffee and consumed the cake intended to accompany the Squadron Commander's after dinner coffee. "This planet looks like a prime piece of real estate," Stewart said, finally. "We had a chance to do a little scanning while we were hunting for their Lordships. Chances are, the upper classes will turn it into another hunting preserve like Trachum. Ever been there?"
The lieutenant shook his head. "I've heard about it, though. The hunting's supposed to be something else."
"I was there once, about two years ago," Stewart said. "Bagged myself a spiny wolf and had it made into a pair of boots."
"How'd you afford it?" the sublieutenant asked. "I've heard it costs an arm and a leg."
"It does," Stewart agreed. "I was part of Lord Hanthzar's bodyguard. Shot the thing to keep it off M'lord's valet. They're semi-intelligent, you know. M'lord graciously let me keep the trophy as a reward. More coffee?"
The sublieutenant nodded. "This is good stuff."
"Yeah." Stewart nodded, sipping his own coffee. "Terran coffee beans actually grown on Terra, in Brazil, wherever that is, hand ground. Mombasa's kind of a gourmet."
The communicator in one of the Patrol helmets beeped softly. The lieutenant reached over to touch the control. "Yes?"
"Shuttle pilot, sir. Sublieutenant Graymore. There's a patrolman here with a bottle o' wine. Says its for a Jil we're takin' back with us. Shall I let him in?"
"Go ahead, Graymore. We're taking back Lords Brexvor and Dilexvor."
"Yes, sir." The com clicked off.
Stewart glanced at the pseudo-valet. "Give the guys a refill, Ed." He paused. "If either of you would like to smoke, it's safe. Our Jils are all safely tucked away in their quarters, except Milthvar. He's been with Her Ladyship for nearly an hour, now."
The sublieutenant had apparently heard about Lady Jorexzill's fling with the fictional sergeant. He laughed. "How's the lucky sarge, anyway? Milthvar make hamburger out of him?" He swigged from his cup and held it out to the valet. Ed refilled the man's cup and topped off the cup in the lieutenant's hand.
"Nope." Dahlgren snickered slightly. "He's in his quarters, resting up. Her Ladyship gave orders to keep him available for when she wanted him. Man, I should be so lucky! Here we are in the middle of routing out a pirate nest, and old Barnes gets to spend his time keeping a Lady happy!"
The lieutenant snorted. "Yeah, why don't things like that happen to me, I wonder." He took a cautious sip of coffee. "Where'd Mombasa get this? I wouldn't mind picking up some like it, if I can afford it."
"You might," Stewart said. "It's probably smuggled. He picked up a bushel of beans for a song, at Andy's Oddities the last time we touched down on Shallock, along with four cases of fifteen-year old moonwine."
"Think I'll drop by there the next time we're at the Scaifen base," the lieutenant said, and drank deeply. The sublieutenant followed suit.
"Good idea," Stewart said. He glanced at the young psychic at his elbow. Ed's left eye flickered in a wink. Jeff began to count silently. As he reached twenty, the sublieutenant put his head down on the table and began to snore.
The lieutenant was made of sterner stuff. He pushed his chair ponderously back from the table, oblivious to his fellow's condition. "I think I'd better see Mombasa, now," he said, slurring his sibilants slightly.
"Sure." Stewart got to his feet, also. "I'll take you down. Ed, take care of the sublieutenant, please."
"Of course, sir," the psychic said.
The lieutenant started for the door, weaving somewhat. Stewart took his arm. "This way, Lieutenant."
The intercom blared.
"Lieutenant Cole to her Ladyship's quarters, immediately."
The lieutenant blinked, obviously trying to concentrate. "Her Ladyship ...?"
Stewart paused while the man considered that. "I'll have one of my men show you the way," he said. Cole hesitated, then followed the guiding hand on his elbow. Stewart led him to a lounge chair and helped him into it. Cole leaned back, dropped his head gently against the cushions and began to snore.
Stewart turned to Ed Burke. "You got everything, Eddie?"
"Yessir. He's to call back within a certain amount of time to let Edwards know everything is all right. I've got the code. The shuttle pilots are sleeping peacefully in the brig and the two platoons are with them. Nobody was killed. One of our men is down in Sick Bay being patched up. Scorched left arm; nothing serious."
"Good. Okay, let's get these two to the brig and get up to the control room."
**********
"Think you can do it all right, Rrhitt?" Stewart inquired.
The Tormheit's tendrils flicked the button of the recorder "off" and leaned back in his chair. As he was somewhat larger than a human and shaped differently, he overflowed the seat in all directions. "I believe so, sir," he said, in the lieutenant's voice. His vocal membrane, similar in structure to that of a Terran mynah bird, was capable of reproducing almost any sound so closely that the human ear could not detect the difference.
Jeff grinned. "That's really great," he said. "Ch'Vir, get hold of the 'Peacemaker'. Audio only."
The Procyon gave a soft trill and bent over his board. Rrhitt strode over to the communicator and waited. Ch'Vir gave a sharp nod.
"Lieutenant Cole to 'Peacemaker'," Rrhitt said.
"Peacemaker receiving you," a voice replied.
"Special message for the Commander. Midnight and all's well."
"Received and understood, Lieutenant," the voice said. "Return to 'Peacemaker', immediately."
"Message received and understood," Rrhitt said. "Cole out."
The communicator clicked off. Stewart grinned at his scanner officer. "Excellent work, Rrhitt."
"Thank you, sir," the Tormheit said, in his usual voice.
"All right, everybody," Jeff continued. "Next phase. Holly, how's the evacuation going?"
"Six transports are out, sir," Holly said. "A seventh is getting ready to boost, now."
"Okay. Listen in close on those communicators of yours, Ch'Vir. Let me know as soon as they start getting restless over there. Lieutenant Rrhitt, do you think you could do a similar imitation of M'lord Milthvar?"
**********
"Sir!" The communications officer of the 'Peacemaker' spun in his seat. "Subcommander Osborne reports an emergency!"
"What manner of emergency, Sublieutenant?" Snathvor's cold voice cut off Edwards' reply before he spoke.
"Lords Brexvor and Dilexvor, sir ... apparently one of them tried to stab the other."
"Let me speak to Osborne immediately," Snathvor commanded.
"Yessir! Subcommander Osborne on the com, sir!"
"Subcommander, this is Lord Snathvor!" The Jilectan sounded more irritated than anything else, Edwards thought. "You will report at once!"
"Yes, sir!" Osborne both looked and sounded harassed. "We have had a small disturbance between two of the scientists aboard the 'Nova', M'lord. Fortunately we were able to prevent any serious injuries, however, as a result of the incident we were ordered by Lord Milthvar to ... uh ... provide their Lordships with quarters not precisely to their liking, at least until M'lord can complete his investigation."
"I fail to understand what qualifies this as an emergency, Subcommander."
Osborne wiped a hand across his chin. "It was necessary for a number of men to -- uh, separate the combatants, M'lord. Several members of your inspection team were present at the time. Five of them --" Osborne's voice faltered momentarily. "Five of them were killed. Eight more of them are now in Sick Bay. One may not make it. The rest are being interviewed by Lords Pilathzor and Milthvar to determine the exact cause of the incident. Your Lieutenant Cole was one of the casualties."
Edwards gritted his teeth. Those damned Jil scientists! He'd heard plenty about Dilexvor and Brexvor and their constant feuding. Now they'd killed some of his men and would no doubt get off with another slap on the wrist ...
Snathvor absorbed the Information for a moment. "I wish to speak to Lord Milthvar," he stated, unequivocally. "Now!"
"Yes, M'lord," Osborne said, quickly. "I'll connect you at once."
A moment passed, no more. Then a voice erupted from the speaker.
"This is Lord Milthvar!" an impatient Jilectan voice snapped. "I trust this is important!"
"This is Snathvor," the Jilectan answered. "I wished to confirm Subcommander Osborne's report."
"His report is correct. The shuttles will be remaining here until I have determined the truth behind the accusations and counter-accusations of the two principals involved. Milthvar out." The com went dead.
Edwards eyes met those of his subcommander, Jael Martin, a native of Shallock. Martin's expression was slightly pensive. Edwards knew that look. He and Martin had been together for four years, and the man was in line for a promotion that Edwards intended to see that he got. He would, however, miss the dry wit and keen judgement of the soon-to-be Strike Commander Martin. Now, he waited expectantly for the Subcommander's analytical mind to decipher whatever puzzle it was working on.
"Fleet Commander," a voice that he was beginning to hate said from behind him, "Lord Hanthzar assigned me to cover this affair. So far, I haven't gotten a thing worth the name of a story ..."
Edwards turned toward the reporter, surprised to find himself gritting his teeth. Carefully, he unclenched them. "Someone remove this man from my control room," he said, his voice tightly controlled. "Andrews, the only story you would get right now would probably cause your execution -- a prospect I would view with approval. You will remain below with the others. If and when anything noteworthy occurs, you will be informed, but if you poke your nose onto this bridge again, I'll have you thrown in solitary. Do I make myself clear?" The Fleet Commander found his voice rising and forced himself to speak levelly. "Now, get off my bridge! And *don't* come back!"
The reporter disappeared.
Edwards turned back to his Subcommander. Martin was still looking at him, scratching absently with one finger at the angle of his jaw. "Does somethin' strike you as sorta funny here, sir?" he inquired, slowly.
Edwards snorted in exasperation. "This whole damned situation strikes me as funny!"
"I see nothing amusing in it," Snathvor said, coldly. "You will confine your observations to the subject at hand." He turned back to stare at the viewscreen again.
"A figure of speech, M'lord," Edwards said. "Recommendation, Subcommander?"
Martin was also staring at the viewscreen. "Does it occur to you, sir, that we can't see what's goin' on, on the other side o' that planet?"
Edwards frowned. "Mombasa's squadron's coverin' it ..."
"I was just thinkin', sir, what I'd do if I was the boss of an Underground base with the Patrol breathin' down my neck."
"Go on."
"Well, they'd be tryin' to evacuate as fast as they could; and suppose -- just suppose they somehow managed t' get hold of a Patrol squadron that showed up to investigate. I'd be tryin' everythin' I knew to stall the Fleet when it arrived -- try t'get rid of it if I could, but if not, I'd try t'confuse 'em, keep 'em off balance. Anythin' t'buy time for my ships t'get away ... probably women an' children -- psychics most likely. Does it strike you that the jammin' cut in real convenient when Milthvar's shuttle left the 'Nova'? What if somebody caught on an' was tryin' t'warn us -- only they jammed his communications an' then that pirate showed up just like that to zap the shuttle." He paused. "An' o' course, that'd explain why pursuit ships from the 'Nova' fouled up our guys."
Edwards nodded slowly. He had been so involved in the situation that he'd missed the obvious. "And if that *is* the Terran Underground out there, the jammin' wouldn't affect their communications much," he said, slowly. "In their place, I'd be usin' my psychics to communicate. I wonder if Milthvar's still alive."
"Maybe," Martin said. "They might have killed him, but I doubt it. No point in it. I doubt it was him talkin' to us, though. Most likely a Tormheit."
"Could be." Edwards turned to Snathvor. "M'lord, may I make a small request?"
The alien regarded him icily. "You wish me to use my telepathic power to learn if this hypothesis of yours is true? You forget, Fleet Commander, my telepathic powers are quite limited. I am primarily a clairvoyant."
"I'm aware of that, M'lord. Still, it can't hurt to try."
The alien regarded him a moment more, then inclined his head. "Very well. I shall make the attempt."
Silence fell on the bridge. Snathvor's expression grew distant, his eyes unfocussed. Edwards became aware that he was holding his breath.
Abruptly, the Jilectan appeared to come to life once more.
"It is most difficult," he said. "For an instant I seemed to find traces of psychic activity which ceased as soon as I touched it. It was so tenuous that it is possible that it was nothing more than my imagination ..."
"My lord ..." Edwards leaned forward. "With your permission, I'd like to check this out."
The alien nodded with less condescension than Edwards had ever received from him. "You may proceed, Fleet Commander."
**********
(tbc)
